


Shattered to Pieces

by Paradoxalpoised



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Femslash, Hurt/Comfort, Swan-Mills Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-23 17:29:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paradoxalpoised/pseuds/Paradoxalpoised
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No more." Emma whispers into Regina's ear. "No more blood between us."</p>
<p>A story of Emma & Regina piecing together an honest relationship from the shattered one of their family history. Regina is grief stricken and Emma finally comes to her senses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Only Almost

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank Queenderien for the wonderful cover art she's gifted me.
> 
> C.
> 
> You can find me on Twitter @Paradoxalpoised.
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
>  

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaken at the circumstances of Cora's death, Emma rushes to the mayoral mansion. She finds Regina in a state of shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Setting | Events in this chapter are set in Storybrooke and take place immediately after Cora's death, in S02E16 'The Miller's Daughter'.]

 

* * *

 

Emma moves closer to the bathroom, source of the only light that shines in the house. She finds Regina there, standing in front of the mirror, transfixed. She sees Regina is wearing the same clothes as earlier, down to her blouse. There are spots of blood on the satin. The shirt is unbuttoned all the way, slightly parted, revealing the edge of two black cups and the swell of breast.

Regina’s look is drifting beyond the mirror, beyond the here and now, if Emma really thinks of it. The woman’s hands are slightly extended in front of her, flexed outward. It’s as if she’s keeping them at bay.

Concern grows in her chest, regret as well. Regina looks like a wounded animal. An eerie feeling crawls over the nape of Emma’s neck. She’s looking at a woman pushed to her last strand of sanity. A woman forced to her last bit of resilience. It hurts. It hurts to look upon this Regina. She wants the one she knows back. Even if it gets her a punch in the face.

Taking a couple of measured and cautious steps to the threshold, her heart is thundering in her chest. But nothing explodes. She stops, looking her over. Regina’s beauty is breathtaking, and Emma is holding hers. The grain of her skin, the curve of her collarbone draw her gaze. She can see the beat of Regina’s heart on the skin of her throat. Her eyes follow it to the teardrop of softer skin birthing her chest, cradling the fiercest of hearts. Emma swallows, and blinks, aware of the specs of blood she can see here and there with the shine of glass, caught in light and skin.

She is responsible for that, she knows. She threw Regina in the glass display at Gold’s pawn shop. There are a few deeper gashes, where it doesn’t seem she can reach them, her blouse is ripped and blood stained on the side and back. A flashback of holding a knife to Regina’s throat rushes to her mind and she looks up at the woman’s neck to find a thin fiery and reddish line. Brown hair falls undisciplined. Dark eyes are bloodshot.

Regina doesn’t bat an eyelash. Emma wonders if she’s even there. She takes another step into the bathroom. Her mouth opens to speak Regina’s name, but she stops.

Emma feels her eyes widen as recognition paints horror on her features. Regina revolves swiftly accompanied by an outward movement of her right arm and hand. As if to push her away from a distance, the arm thrown creates a spray of destruction in its path. The side of the sink breaks free. Water geysers from the faucet. The large mirror shatters in an array of large and small pieces. Shards fly everywhere, including to Regina’s face and upper body. Tile rips from the wall as Regina turns to face her. The glass door of the shower fractures with a loud crack, but Emma can’t register it fumbling on itself. She thinks of telling Regina to stop. She thinks of tackling her to the floor to avoid porcelain and glass from reaching her.

Words and movement are forgotten as Emma realizes she’s being lifted. She feels the aspiration of the magic blow. Then, along with porcelain, mirror shards, metal scraps, tile and suspended water, Emma crashes through the plaster and wood of the wall supporting the bathroom door frame. She lands hard on her side and rolls flat to her back in the master bedroom. The wind is knocked out of her lungs. Pressure fills her head, and a weird whistle stuffs her ears. It feels slightly like cabin pressurisation when a plane climbs in altitude, but much worse.

The pain hits finally. Emma sees spots and tries to blink them away. Just as slow as she saw her blow, Regina is on her in a blitz. She straddles her, hysterically pounding her with tight fists. The bounty hunter in her shifts into defense mode. She pushes Regina hard on her chest, destabilizing her backward as she grabs a wrist in each hand. Charging back, Regina pulls and yanks to no avail. She’s rolled over onto her back by Emma who tries to immobilize her long enough to figure out a way to stop this madness.

“Regina!” she grunts, struggling against Regina’s surprising strength. “Regina, stop! I am not here to hurt you.”

As she says it, it dawns on her that she is the one being attacked.

She tries again desperately looking for something to hold on to in Regina’s pitch dark eyes.

“What Snow did to your mother—“ It’s the wrong choice, Regina struggles all the more. Emma pushes back hard on her arms, bruising her, but immobilizing her once again. “Regina, please… Everything is completely fucked up, it has to stop!” Eloquence is not in Emma’s repertoire. Not often, not now.

She tries to put her weight on Regina’s chest, forcing her to listen. “I’m sorry, she was your mom and I’m sorry, okay?”

She thinks that maybe she got through, but is reminded that, no she didn’t, when a knee collides violently with her crotch.

Emma cries out in pain. Regina pulls free. She tumbles over Emma, laying her flat on her back and getting her hard in the stomach with an elbow. Emma recoils on herself, bringing her knees to her chest.

As she recovers, turning around slowly, she breathes out painfully. “Regina, I am not like them. We have to—“

Emma catches the flash of a mirror shard in Regina’s right hand. She’s bleeding profusely, as she lifts it toward Emma’s chest. Emma interrupts the attack with her bare hand, cutting herself on the sharp triangle of tinted glass. She struggles to hold her arm still. She manages to grab her other hand in hers and twists it.

The cry Emma hears from Regina is feral, of pain and rage. She loses her grip at Regina’s renewed fury. The back of her head hits the floor as Regina gets her solidly in the cheekbone.

The power of the blow resounds with a crack of bone and the dull thud of skull on wooden floor. She feels grateful, shortly, that her tongue wasn’t between her teeth when she notices a sliver of hesitation in Regina’s charge. She encloses her in her arms, Regina’s hands flat on her chest. Emma feels the tip of the glass slice at her skin but break off from the pressure.

Warm blood dampens her shirt and she knows Regina is bleeding, too. She has her pinned to her chest, her legs wrapped around hers. Still, Regina struggles and groans like a wild animal.

“Regina, listen to me!”

Muffled screams are hot against her breast.

“Stop, you have to stop.” She grunts against the strain of the effort. “I am not like them,” she repeats as gently as possible. “We can make it different. I won’t hurt you, I promise.” There’s all the care she can muster in her voice.

Regina thrashes and scratches fingernails in her skin through her ripped shirt. She bites her hard. Emma releases her instantly with a scream. Regina straddles Emma again. The shard of glass in her right hand plunges toward her belly.

Emma grabs at the hand with both of hers, but in her position, her hold is more than weak. It’s useless.

“Regina, please,” she begs. Her voice cracks. She searches for Regina’s eyes, but she’s looking down at her hands. She sees the shard reflecting the white skin of her abdomen.

“Regina, don’t do this!”

She can taste real fear now. She feels the cold of the glass and the pressure of it against her skin. She knows she is only slowing it down. She can’t push with her legs or she will stab herself. Regina won’t have to do it for her.

“Regina,” she whispers. Her skin rips and more blood pools. Regina is pushing, inexorably, against her hands. She’s oblivious to her own blood flowing down, her hands cut and mangled. The pain is blazing. The adrenaline is leaving Emma; it has been a long fight.

“Regina…”

But the blankness in those eyes tells her Regina is no more. Only her suffering and rage. There’s no reason, no heart, nothing to hear her last pleas for life. Emma Swan falters. The glass enters her flesh swiftly, deeply.

“Henry…” Emma breathes it out, yielding. She wants to close her eyes. She wants it to be over. She realizes it might be.

Regina’s head snaps up. Emma meets her aghast eyes.

A gargling sound escapes her throat. The nauseating taste of copper hits her taste buds before the disgusting texture fills her mouth. Blood bubbles and spills out of her mouth, overflowing both corners. It runs down her neck, stains her blonde hair.

Regina’s frozen. Maybe it’s the contrast of red on gold. Maybe it’s the pain and tears fogging her eyes. Most likely it’s Henry.

Of all things, she should have known. She should have started with Henry. It might not have avoided the first blow, but it might have have avoided her dying.

 

* * *

 

Regina looks at Emma intently. She takes in the blood, the cuts, the shard of glass sticking out obscenely from the belly of her son’s birth-mother. She takes in Emma’s life as it’s fading away. Water blurs her vision. She focuses back to her green gaze. Emma offers her a soft smile of crimson teeth.

“Emma!” Regina gasps. She knows what the blood in her mouth means.

She’s killed the Savior.

“No.” Her hands fly to her mouth before she inspects them in surprise at the gutting pain. She is made aware of her own state. She is made aware of how far she’s gone.

Emma’s eyes flutter shut.

“No, no, no, no. No!”

She looks down between her thighs, for what to do, how to stop it. She extends a bloody, trembling hand and pulls the shard of glass out of Emma’s abdomen. Emma lifts off the floor with a cry of wrenching pain. Her hands fly to Regina’s chest, reaching for contact before she falls back with a dull thud.

She gently takes her hand in her left one, resting it atop her heart.

She finds her eyes once more, willing softness to pass between them. She needs Emma to understand. She needs her to allow what she’s about to do. She needs her to absorb it. She doesn’t really know how she’s going to manage. She has never done it on someone so close to the edge. This type of magic cannot come from anger or need. It has to be genuine. It has to mean something else.

Regina extends her right hand above Emma’s abdomen. She feels her own blood dripping down her palm. She knows it’s falling off in Emma’s wound. She thinks of it as an exchange. She’s giving Emme life, her life. Regina’s eyes are closed. She conjures Henry’s face in her mind. She lets him fill her with his smile, the softness of his hair, the adoration in his eyes when, she thinks, he used to love her still. She allows herself to find the similarities between the son she adores above all else and his infuriating mother.

Regina’s hand settles delicately on Emma’s torn flesh. She feels the warmth and the sickening wetness. The scent of blood is strong in the air. It’s attached to her palate. In her mind she sees Henry and Emma together. The love the Savior fiercely harbors for the Evil Queen’s child. She sees the delighted smile on Henry’s lips. She has seen the same smile on Emma’s lips.

The glow and warmth she feels tell her that she is healing Emma. It’s weak. It’s too slow. She focuses harder. She sees Henry asking her to protect his birth-mother. She sees Emma pushing her out of the wraith’s path. She sees Emma thanking her after climbing out of the well, and running after her when she left the welcome back party. She frowns when her mother enters her thoughts. Snow telling her Mother couldn’t love her without her heart.

Regina struggles against the undermining thoughts. She hears Mother telling her that she would have been enough. Her eyes are burning and she thinks she might lose all focus. She shakes her head.

Emma’s hand moves in her own. Regina’s eyes fly open in an unvoiced gasp as she feels that hand spread and press gently at her heart. Regina’s eyes lock onto Emma’s, incapable of escaping the palette of feelings clawing at her.

Emma’s other hand lifts shakily to the one on her belly and covers it. Magic links them. It vibrates through them finding its way inside, transparent conduit feeding off of the emotions they share, regardless of what they do or could ever mean. Regina feels Emma inside of her. She feels the strength of the essence of Emma Swan. She feels the fire of Emma’s light course through her. It washes over her, filling every gap, every sore and crevice. She feels herself recoil from the sheer ache and desire for what Emma pours into her with so much ease. It swirls and coats, it envelops her as it searches for that place where Regina knows she doesn’t hate Emma. She never has.

It’s relinquished, and she is conquered without a word.

Emma’s magic flows inside of her and Regina guides it. She articulates it into healing, but the magic is so strong, there is no reining it in or sparing her any unnecessary effort. She knows Emma’s wounds are healed. She can tell hers are being healed as well, and maybe it isn’t abundance. Maybe it’s Emma’s will.

She opens her eyes slowly. She takes in the magic between them, the shredded clothes, their hands intertwined on her heart and between her legs. She looks at Emma. Emma doesn’t move. She doesn’t blink. She hopes.

The magic flow wanes, leaving a wake of prickling explosions inside both of them, the dying sparks of fireworks falling back from their high.

Regina feels the intensity of the magic leave her. All that remains is a dreadfully cold emptiness. Suddenly, as aflame as she had been while healing the Savior, she can only feel the deadly blow of the aftershock. Silence washes over her. Then the thud of her beating heart. Then everything throbs and spasms attack her.

She can’t decide if she is going to heave or faint. She’s being trampled by another horde of hurt. She can’t do anything. She doesn’t know how much more she can contain. She crumbles all at once. She’s not sure how, but she falls. All she can see are Emma’s eyes looking at her. Time catches up to her and she feels skin against hers, arms around her. Regina hears words being whispered.

 

* * *

 

Emma catches Regina around her waist mid-way as she falls into her chest. The sobs explode from the small body, shaking her uncontrollably. She presses Regina’s face to her chest gently. Fingers grab at the remnants of her shirt. She delicately wraps her arms around her. She allows their bodies to lie down, cautiously. Regina lets her.

“I’ve got you now.” Emma whispers against the skin and hair she is caressing.

She presses soft kisses to Regina’s temple and forehead. It should be strange and awkward, she thinks. All it is, instead, is right. There is a relief to holding Regina that she would never have suspected.

There is possessiveness in Emma’s left arm encircling her waist. There is a fierceness as she pulls Regina, still straddling her, firmly into her body.

Emma waits patiently. She consoles and comforts. Regina sobs a long time. It’s heartbreaking. It’s much more than she’d ever thought her capable of. Then sobs turn to crying. Silent tears dampen Emma’s skin. She feels her eyelashes graze her skin sometimes when she breathes deeper. Regina’s ear is on her heart, so Emma tries to keep it steady. She strokes her hair. She enjoys the delicate softness and the taste of her skin where her lips are touching Regina’s forehead.

“No more.” Emma whispers into her ear. “No more blood between us.”

Emma wraps her arms completely around Regina once again. She adjusts Regina in her arms and Regina’s legs relax along and between hers. Emma soothes circles on her back. She closes her eyes, seeking calm in the warmth of the woman resting into her. Regina breathes softly now. Emma can feel her breath hitch at times in between a sigh and a shudder. She remembers that’s how it’s like sometimes, when you’ve cried all you have. The heart is still heavy, you just can’t spare one more tear.

“I won’t allow you to be hurt this way ever again. I promise.”

Emma says it with a calm determination. She means it.

She feels Regina hoist herself above her chest. Emma unfolds her arms to allow it smoothly. Regina’s hair is falling on both sides of her face as she looks into her eyes intently. Emma, still laying down, lifts both her hands to gently tuck the hair in at Regina’s ears, much like she would do herself. With her thumb, she catches a lingering tear trapped in the dried salty path of all the others Regina has shed.

She’s quiet. She allows Regina to look at her as she tries to identify the conflicting emotions battling on the brown canvas. She thinks for a moment that she shouldn’t have made a promise she might not be prepared to pay the price for. She’s been stabbed to death, or nearly death, if not for magic. Magic that lingers as an aftertaste in her mouth. She feels Regina’s essence within herself. She feels a warm buzz coursing through her veins, tingling in her fingers, her lips, even her eyelids, and gathering in her chest under Regina’s hands.

It’s not clear. It’s not simple. It’s not even a relief.

Emma has no idea how to begin helping Regina. How to go about it. It didn’t really start off so well anyway. She would sigh, but she’s still holding the most incredibly beautiful and shattered woman she’s ever laid eyes upon in her arms.

It’s Regina who Emma needs to save. It makes sense. She just needs for the rest of Storybrooke to get it. And the Evil Queen too. Preferably before anyone else dies.

Maybe it’s the Savior inside of her. Maybe it’s Emma being Emma. She feels the need to move, to go and fix. She needs to start with Mar—Snow, and David, too. She must talk to Henry, for as much as she dreads it.

Emma gently sits upright. She feels Regina kneeling against her legs as she still has her arms around her waist. Emma doesn’t let go, gathering her legs underneath herself. She lifts both of them to stand. Regina trembles; she presses her hands flat to Emma’s chest, trying to gain her bearings. Emma waits for her to steady against her.

“Come,” she says softly, “let’s sit you down for a minute.”

Emma motions to guide Regina toward her bed, but as she initiates movement she feels Regina’s resistance.

Her voice is hoarse and raspy when she protests, “I do not need to sit, Miss Swan.” Regina pushes against Emma to free herself from her embrace.

She releases the stubborn woman only to catch her again as Regina sways dangerously. She wants to tell her that when you kill someone, it creates a sort of intimacy. At least enough for her to be called something else than ‘Miss Swan.’

Even if she was only almost killed.

Wordlessly, she walks them both to her bed. Emma sits by Regina in silence. She surveys her, trying to assess if she still suffers any injuries. There’s no more fresh blood that she can see. Regina’s skin is fiery red in most places. Lines in flesh looking like freshly healed scars appear on certain spots, like the woman’s hands where her cuts must have been the most severe. Emma tears herself from her inspection to follow Regina’s gaze around the room.

The neat and fashionably decorated bedroom reminds her of a war zone. It looks ravaged, as if a grenade detonated in the bathroom and tore the place apart. Half the wall separating the two rooms is crumbling. She can hear water running and see it invade the bedroom in waves.

“I should find your water shut-off valve.” Emma stands, looking at Regina for directions.

Regina shakes her head lightly. “There is no need.” She looks up at her. “The damage is done.”

“Yeah,” she’s aware of the double meaning to Regina’s words, “but we should still try to fix it.”

Regina gives a turn of her wrist, efficiently silencing the running water.

“Fixed.” Regina throws it coldly. She seems exasperated, Emma decides on the term, feeling somewhat disappointed and very tired.

Emma gives herself a quick once-over and realizes she looks like she has gone through a paper shredder. She sees the same fiery lines and patches on her pale skin. Regina is studying her.

Suddenly, Regina’s fingertips lightly brush the skin of her abdomen. She lingers then caresses the reminder of where she stabbed her with the back of her fingers.

Emma is holding her breath. Her stomach flutters at Regina’s soft and gentle touch. She can’t help but shiver. Her mouth waters, assailed by Regina’s unique flavor. Emma swallows. Regina lays her hand flat against Emma’s abdomen, while her left one tightens in a fist, punching her thigh. She closes her eyes. A deep frown of pain contorts her features as she casts her head down.

Worry floods Emma with the need to comfort her. She places her hand above Regina’s on her belly.

“It’ll get better,” Emma says.

It’s a bit lame, she scolds herself. She was never good at comforting people. She has never been good at people. Except for finding them. Except for figuring out when they’re lying.

Regina bites her lower lip. She is fighting to regain composure. Any sort of composure really.

“Henry,” she swallows a dry sob, “Henry will never forgive me for what I have done to you.”

Emma’s mind races in all directions. She tries to think of the right words to explain to Regina that the kid will come around. She wishes for Regina to trust her, but she has no illusions. You’d think her still standing here comforting her would be self-explanatory.

“Henry loves you. You’re his mother. We’ll find a way to fix it.” Emma tries to sound convincing.

There is a lot of things to be fixed going around. A lot of faith to be had. She knows enough of Regina to know faith isn’t her forte. It isn’t hers, either.

Regina removes her hand from Emma’s abdomen. She balls it like her other one and rests it on her other thigh. She turns her head from her, backing away from the proximity. Emma knows that Regina wants to be alone; she’s just not certain if she should be.

She ponders that for a moment, feeling the loss of Regina’s hand on her skin. That and the intense tingling their magic creates inside of her. She knows she wants to keep an eye on Regina, but she’s also wary of the idea of facing her parents. Of facing Henry. There is another world of trouble waiting for her outside of the mayoral mansion. It’s not that the mess laying at her feet and sitting in front of her feels that much more welcoming. The connection Emma feels to Regina has taken on a whole new sense, a new dimension.

It’s a lot to take in and she needs to clear her head. She also needs to keep at bay her desire to run away from it all.

“I should go,” she says, immobile.

Regina doesn’t move. She only nods. Emma’s entire body vibrates with the need to touch her and the hesitancy to do so. She finally walks to the bedroom door, her steps crunching on the debris. She feels Regina’s eyes on her back. She turns around swiftly and catches her gaze.

“Be gentle to yourself, please?” she asks almost shyly. “I’ll be back.”

With that, she walks out and down the stairs, then to the front door. The air is brisk and salty, but it feels good to her lungs. Emma inhales a deep breath and takes off in the cold.


	2. Silent Scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After her disastrous but heart wrenching encounter with Regina, Emma becomes aware of her mistakes and vows to take responsibility for her behavior. Starting with standing her ground to her father, telling Henry the truth of what happened to Cora and keeping her promise to return to Regina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Setting | Events in this chapter take place in Storybrooke, around S02E17 'Welcome to Storybrooke'.]

 

* * *

 

Emma sneaks into the loft quietly. The fresh air she got walking on the way back helped with the dizziness but she definitely feels like she’s been hit by a car. Technically, she’s been through a wall, so it must be close.

The moment Emma gets in the door, David is there. He surprises her by wrapping her in his arms. They’re strong. Maybe that’s what being in your father’s arms is supposed to feel like.

Immediately, he cradles the back of her head into his chest. Emma can feel the trembling of his hand against her skull. She feels him exhale all the emotion of having her safely in his embrace. It’s what she hopes she’ll feel when finally she has Henry within reach.

She circles her hands on his back comfortingly. It’s strange to have him so emotional. It’s strange to have him so worried.

“I am okay now, Da... Dad.”

She gives it to him. It’s thought of, stuttered and quick, but it’s given.

Concern colors David’s face as he surveys her from head to toe. So much for making him feel better. “Emma? Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Oddly, she is. She’s on course now. She fucked up. Really bad. Regina was changing, and she pushed her into a relapse. She’s not going to do that again.

Neal is there, on the couch in the living room. He shoots to his feet as David holds her at arm’s length. Both men stare at her in shock.

“What the hell happened to you?” David asks. “Did Regina hurt you?” He touches Emma’s shoulder surprisingly lightly.

She shrugs off his hand. She looks at them both. “I’m fine, really. It looks worse than it is.”

Neither of them is going to let it go that easy. Neal comes closer to her. “She did this to you?”

“I scared her. She reacted out of grief.” She waves it off. “That’s not the point. She realized what she did. She healed me.”

David’s voice booms, somewhat triumphantly, scoffing. They’re going down that road. She wants to sigh ahead of time. She tries to keep the lid on her rage instead.

Damn, she’s tired.

“So she did hurt you! I knew it.” He goes on, his face hardening. “She’s a menace. It’ll never be over, even with Cora dead.”

“What do you suggest we do, David?” Emma’s anger is flaring now. She knows exactly what David’s suggesting. “You want to kill Regina like your wife—like my mom—murdered Cora?

“Maybe we could have Henry slip her something? She’ll never see it coming.”

She’s seething now. She can see the rationalization behind that line of thought.

“Your mother didn’t do anything of the sort!!” David’s face looks red with insult and agonized conflict.

Good.

“She did what needed to be done to protect our family.”

Neal intervenes, “Come on, Emma. You know Regina’s dangerous. She would have taken you out if she could have.”

Emma whips around to shoot him a death glare. “Yes, she is dangerous. Every fucking thing she’s ever cared about has been ripped away from her! And all of that so that your father could find your sorry ass.”

All of it. All this shit so that Gold can get what he wants.

Neal looks to protest. She almost knows what he’ll say, _‘Don’t lay this on me. I didn’t want my father to find me’_ but she cuts him off. She’s tired of people forcing others to take blame they themselves should have a part of, like she feels with Regina.

“Because being forced to marry a man, a goddamn king twice your age, or parenting a kid when you’re nothing more than a teenager, or watching your mother kill your first love in front of you, or, say, being manipulated into killing your own mom, that’s not fucked up, is it? It won’t make you give in to the dark side, will it?”

If it had been her, she’d have welcomed the dark side and become twice as fucked up as Darth Vader ever was. Fuck kingdoms and fairy godmothers. She would have killed the motherfucker in their bed on her wedding night. With her bare hands. To begin with.

She takes in her father with her next glare. “Family, right? Family first? Tell me why we’re saving Gold’s ass at all costs, but we’re going to throw Regina, Henry’s family, under the fucking bus?”

“It was the only way to stop Cora,” David answers.

“Bullshit! I don’t know how to convince her of it, and I hope to any kind of freaking god there is that she won’t be looking for revenge. This shit has to end now!”

“Emma.” Neal is looking at her with doe eyes, willing her to calm down. She can almost hear him say _‘Chill, babe,’_ like he used to. She feels a wave of disgust bring bile to her throat.

“Just don’t.” Emma shuts him up, and it’s about time. Three hundred years on the run and that’s all the perspective he can come up with?

She then turns her attention to a gaping David. “Whatever you want to call what Mary Margaret did, she shouldn’t have done it. It’s going to haunt her. So, you deal with that. You don’t make excuses. I’ll deal with Regina.”

“She’s evil, Emma.” There’s concern in his eyes. “She’s had many second chances. She’s made her choice.”

“Choice?! What kind of fucking choice?” They would all just sacrifice Regina in a heartbeat and feel better for it.

“She is not evil, she’s my son’s mother.” She straightens as she lifts her chin up in defiance. “If there is anyone I’m ever going to save, it will be Regina.”

“He’s my son, too!”

She wants to call him the bastard that he is. The coward that he is. Just like his father.

“Right,” Emma snickers condescendingly. “He’ll be your son when you earn it. And New York pizza might be enough for him just now, but make no mistakes, it won’t cut it.”

Both men open their mouths in protest, but Emma is the first to shout, “Enough!”

Her left arm supports her back as her right hand comes to rest on her forehead.

“How could she even… There had to be another way. How could you let her do that?” She’s angry at Mary Margaret, at David, at herself. “Where is she? She needs to hear this, too. It’s about time she owns up to her shit.”

“Emma—” David starts, Snow’s Prince Charming, always.

She glances over his shoulder at the bedroom where she can make out Snow, curled up on their bed.

“No!” She lifts her hand, flat in the air. “No, this is all kinds of fucked up! Don’t you see?”

The question is useless, but she can’t help it. She’s tired of the violence, of the harm they’re all inflicting on each other.

Her mind still hammers, _how can she even begin to explain this to Henry?_

Emma knows, though. She can hear the voice in her head screaming Regina’s name. How could they have done this?

There is doing what must be done and there is cruelty. _And then there is Gold, too. The son of a bitch._

“We made her murder her own mother!” She’s shouting now.

She wants to shake them, all of them, until they realize the absurdity of this Manichean world they keep hanging on to.

“What if it had been me, David?” Emma’s feeling so cold, so hurt, so frustrated that she just wants to beat the truth into his chest.

“Can’t you see I would have done the same? With the world the way it is, with the world the way it’s been. For me. I would have done the same. I would have killed that fucker on my wedding night.” She lets that sink in for a second, except it doesn’t. She’s not even sure he can register what she’s saying, for all his chivalrous denial.

“I would have learned magic, any magic, as long as it got me enough strength to change my life. I would have done anything to get the fuck out. I did.

“And then what, David? Would you have declared me evil? Would you have tied me to the pillory yourself?”

“Emma… you’re… you couldn’t, you’re not like her.” David’s swallowing hard. “You’re my daughter.’

“How can you not understand how much wrong was done to her? How can you not understand how this, what Snow did, it was the last straw. We’ve done enough damage, Dad.”

Emma is only looking at David, sorrow burning her eyes. “You’re fucking Prince Charming! Don’t you understand? We are the ones who need to stop.”

“Emma…” David begins, but the words seem to die in his throat.

He looks like he doesn’t know what to say to appease her. And how would he know? He didn’t know what to do to stop his wife from killing someone in cold blood. Emma knows he just wants good to win. Maybe he only wants pain to stop and his family to be safe.

Does he know, deep down, when he looks hard enough, that it seems like it doesn’t really matter what that safety costs people outside the ones he loves?

“No.” Emma straightens again, with resolve, watching her father sag, defeated. “I will handle this. Stay out of my way.”

She’s startled by her tone. She sounds imperious. She sounds like Regina.

“Emma, what are you doing?” David frowns, at a loss.

She turns halfway to give him an unforgiving look. “I am going to get Henry.”

 

* * *

 

It takes only a couple of steps toward the Diner for Emma’s anger to give way to anxiety. She knows very well she’s going to have to talk to Henry. He’s going to see her, even if she’s changed. He’s going to have questions. He’s going to have watery eyes and a broken heart.

And it’s so fucking unfair. But then, when is life ever fair?

Emma walks faster, grinding teeth and tightened fists. Truth be told, the person she’s angry with most is herself.

She should have trusted her gut over magic. She knew Regina was innocent of Archie’s death. She knew it.

How easy it had been to pretend Regina wouldn’t fall. How easy it had been to look the other way. Emma got her parents back. She took Henry away. All this time she’s known. She’s known Regina is so very hurt it makes her want to punch it out of her. It’s deafening within her, like the silent scream of despair she’s felt all of her life.The begging, for someone, anyone, to take it all away and give her a chance at something else. Something unstained of the disgusting absolutism of loneliness and a pain so deep, life tastes like char. No hope. No light. Inexorably gray and damp. Not of enough substance for life to be anything but cold and cruel, knowing without any doubt that you’re like the morning trash people take out without an afterthought on their way to something more important.

She didn’t want to see. She wanted to win. She wanted to do something right. She wanted to have. Because really, she’s never had anything and it’s got to be her turn too, sometimes.

Emma wants to say she’s sorry. Of course, it doesn’t mean anything, and Regina isn’t going to give a single fuck. She doesn’t have the first clue how she’s going to make that shit up to her. There is no prison for breaking someone’s heart beyond what’s already beyond.

So far gone, it gets you stabbed and killed a little, maybe just enough that nothing matters anymore.

Regina is hurt more than anyone should ever be, thoroughly, methodically, for way too long. Regina is shattered in ways Emma has refused to acknowledge, because it resonates within her, down to her every broken bone and bloody gash. It’s throbbing in her scars right now.

She has been fighting against an enemy who is already defeated.

Regina, oh-so-strong and powerful, let her mother command her. Emma thinks of the conflict, the terror, the submission she saw in her eyes. The longing. The craving.

And then Mary Margaret—

“Emma!”

There’s a whoosh of air knocked out of her with a boy wrapping his arms around her middle and a long haired, tall and slender woman around her neck. It’s not fair, but damn if it doesn’t feel good.

Maybe that’s what Regina’s always needed. She could have given it, if she had stopped being defensive long enough. She could have been respectful, not entitled, and maybe Regina would have let her be part of their family, too. Emma took Henry instead. She turned Regina’s life upside down and she cut her fucking childhood tree. With a chainsaw. Subtle.

“It’s enough, let her breathe.”

Granny helps untangle Henry from her before giving her a pat on the back of her shoulder. It doesn’t last long enough for Emma to recoil. It’s hard, people touching her.

“You look like you’ve been through hell, girl.”

“Emma, you’re okay?” Ruby and Henry’s eyes are scrutinizing her.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Is everyone else all right?” Concern is creasing Ruby’s brow. Guilt, too, if Emma’s reading it right. No doubt Ruby would have liked it better to be part of the strike team. The good it did anyway.

“Yeah, everyone’s in one piece, more or less.”

“Did you fight with my mom?”

“Kid… I–”

“Sit. I’ll bring you something to drink.” Emma is grateful for the interruption. Granny’s already walking toward the kitchen.

“Thanks.”

“Did she hurt you?”

“Henry,” Emma gently taps the chair next to her at the table by the bay window, “come here.”

Henry sits quietly, looking her all over, frowning deeply.

“I am not sure what to tell you, kid.” Emma feels shaky. She sighs deeply and takes a shuddering breath.

“There was a lot of fighting. Over at Mister Gold’s shop.”

“With Cora?”

“Yes, with Cora.”

Granny sets a mug of coffee on the table for her, and settles down with her own and another cup for Ruby. They wait for Emma to go on with her tale.

There’s whisky in her coffee. A healthy dose, too. She can taste the scent on her tongue, no need to drink it.

“She was very strong, and we didn’t really do much but slow her down before she could get to Gold. She wanted the Dark One’s dagger.”

“Did my mom help her?”

“Yeah, sorta. In the beginning, but I don’t think her heart was really in it at all. She threw a couple fireballs and we ruffled a little, but she didn’t give it her best shot, Henry. I don’t think she was very happy with Cora’s plan. She was just trying to be with her mom, you know?”

“I don’t understand.” Henry’s arms are crossed on his chest, in refusal.

“Cora is your mom’s mom. She was all the family she had left, beside you. So when Cora got into town, whatever your mom felt after I took you back to the loft with me and then to New York… I think your mom freaked out that I was going to take you from her.”

“But she had to know that Cora is bad. She’s a villain.”

“Yeah, but she was desperate, I think. Maybe she only helped Cora because she thought she could get you back that way.”

“Cora wants Rumpelstiltskin’s powers. They want more magic.” Henry’s face is a scowl of disdain.

He looks so very much like Regina.

“Cora’s dead.”

“Oh,” escapes from Ruby, all three watching her with surprised and maybe relieved looks.

“I would leave it at that, but I need to tell you something else.”

“Is…” He looks down at his dangling feet. “Is my mom dead too?”

“Aww, Henry.” Emma wraps her arms around her boy and pulls him into her lap. “No, your mom isn’t dead. But she’s very, very sad.”

“Because her mom died.”

“Yeah. But also because it wasn’t right, how Cora died.”

And really, what else is she supposed to say? Because it wasn’t right, and nothing is going to change that.

“She was so powerful, even Gold couldn’t do anything directly to stop her.”

“Because he was poisoned?”

God, it’s hard to say. She doesn’t want to. She wants to disappear into the checkered vinyl floor and absolutely not have to look at her son. Absolutely not have to tell him his grandmother had his mom murder her own mother.

“So you see, what happened is that Mary Margaret—Snow—she put a curse on Cora’s heart. The thing is, Cora’s heart, it wasn’t in her chest.”

“Where was it?”

“It was in the vault under the crypt. She hid it there with your mom’s things.” Emma is making sure to at least not look at Granny or Ruby. “Snow, she went to the vault, and she met your mom there. She gave her Cora’s heart.”

Granny’s gasp is unmistakable as she puts two and two together.

“Why would Grams go the vault?”

“So she could put a curse on Cora’s heart, a curse that would kill her and save Mister Gold.”

“But why would Grams give Cora’s heart to my mom?”

“So that your mom could put Cora’s heart back inside of her chest.” Emma swallows the oversized lump in her throat loudly.

Henry is looking at her with his big, big brown eyes, absorbing all of it like he’s a sponge. Anxiety and incomprehension roll off of him in waves at the absurdity of the grown-ups’ world . A world that no kid should ever know about before he’s got fuzz on his face, kissed someone and gotten a crush on one of his high-school teachers.

He’s got tears blurring the dark in his eyes. Emma hasn’t realized she’s crying too until he touches her cheek with his hand to wipe the water away.

“So my mom… she… she killed her own mom because Grams made her?”

Emma nods.

“That’s… No.”

“Ruby!” Granny has a hand on Ruby’s forearm.

Ruby’s eyes are really Red’s, glowing bright silver and not hazel at all anymore. She’s trembling like she’s going to explode.

Ruby snatches her arm away from Granny’s grasp like she could throw her off to the other side of the diner with little effort.

“Snow couldn’t. Tell me she didn’t.”

“I wish I could.”

And she’s gone. Ruby storms out and she’s vanished from sight before any of them can do anything about it.

Emma wonders if Ruby’s going to go shake some sense into Snow or just get a good run out of her wolf.

“Emma?”

Henry is looking up at her with his broken heart on his quivering lip. His fingers are tracing the fiery red lines on her face. Maybe the diner lights make them look worse than they are.

“Yeah?”

“Did you and my mom fight? You look like you’re hurt.”

“I’m okay now, Henry.” She looks at him with what sincerity she can. “Your mom, she’s grieving. She’ll never see her mother again and, even if Cora wasn’t a very good mom or a very nice person, Regina loved her.”

“She was her mom.”

He gets it, because for all the righteousness in his gigantic heart, he’s just a boy who loves his mom. Even if he doesn’t know very much about the real woman she is, Regina is his mother.

“She was her mom.”

Emma wants to get it over with, but he’s got to know the whole truth before it all gets twisted again.

“Regina and I, we had a bad fight. We hurt each other. But it wasn’t because she’s the Evil Queen and I’m the Savior.”

“No?” He’s questioning that, of course, so hellbent on that epic final battle of his. “It’s what you’re supposed to do, though.”

“No, Henry. It’s not what we’re supposed to do. We fought because your mom is always in a lot of pain and I was too scared to trust her before. We fought because we’re both defensive and everyone pressures her to be the Evil Queen and pressures me to be the Savior.

“I got hurt and she got hurt. But she healed me, Henry. She healed me when she saw I wasn’t okay. She made it better even when she was angry and sad. She made me better.”

“She did?”

“Yes.” She looks at him with all her hopes up that maybe one more time he can believe. “I was wrong about a lot of things. We have to help your mom. It’s her I need to save. Do you understand?”

“You mean she isn’t evil anymore?”

“I mean she never was. Your mom isn’t evil and she loves you.”

“But she has dark magic. And that destroys everything.”

“She’s got dark magic, yes, but she healed me with something else. Her magic isn’t all bad, or maybe she doesn’t know how to do better magic.”

He scowls. “Magic sucks.”

“Yeah, but, Henry?” She really needs him to be on her side. “We’ve got to help your mom, it’s really important. Please?”

Emma looks up at Granny. She hears Henry agreeing with her, but she’s looking for some sense in her eyes, too.

Granny appraises her for a long silent moment. Emma’s heart is beating in her ears.

There’s a brief nod.

“What are we doing now?” His voice sounds all wrong with worry.

“Now, we’re going back to the loft, and we’re going to put you to bed, because it’s late. I’m going to go check on your mom after that. David and Mary Margaret are there, too.”

“Where’s my dad?”

“He’s there, too.” She silently hopes Neal is gone but she doubts it.

He stands up to go get his backpack. Emma turns to Granny.

“I… you think Ruby will be okay?”

“Don’t worry about it now, girl. Red and Snow go back a long way, they’ll figure out their issues.”

“All right.” Emma wants to let it go, but it’s not that easy. How is she supposed to work it out with Snow? They don’t go way back.

“As for Regina—”

“She’s not evil!” Emma readies herself for another fight. She’d better get used to it, tired or not, there’s going to be many more.

“I heard you the first time, girl. Hold your horses.” Granny walks both of them to the door. “Just come by before you go back there.”

Emma wonders why but it sounds supportive out of Granny’s mouth so she’ll take what she can get.

“‘Kay.”

 

* * *

 

Henry is finally lying down. He’s in her bed and she’s trying to tuck him in. Neal left, promising to come back soon and be the father he could never be, dangling promises of sword fighting lessons, baseball gloves and boys’ days.

David hugged him long and strong, just like he did her, burying his face in the boy’s hair like it held all of their lost innocence. And maybe it does.

“Emma?”

“Yeah?”

“Is Grams evil now, too?” Ouch.

“No, Henry. No.” She’s just catatonic. “She’s just… I think she probably regrets what she did very much and she’s in shock.” And everybody”s fussing over her like she’s the one who’s lost the most important thing.

They’re quiet for a while. She threads her fingers through his hair. It soothes both of them.

“Oh.” He pauses and looks away from her. “I made you and Mom fight.”

“No!” God, this parenting thing is so hard. She kisses his forehead, his cheeks, his nose. “No, you didn’t. We both love you so much, Henry. She’s your mom and she loves you and we didn’t fight over you. I promise.” Not this time.

“If she had been able to keep me, then she wouldn’t have trusted Cora. And done dark magic and evil things.”

“Henry…” She’s at a loss.

She wishes Regina was there. Regina would know what to tell him. She wouldn’t even have to tell him lame half-lies. She’s trying to not do that, but it’s hard to explain. Because they did fight over him, that’s all they ever did. And not.

“Look, we’ll talk about it with her when she feels up to it. How is that?”

“You want me to talk with my mom again?”

“I think it would be a good thing, yes. I need to make sure she’s okay, though. I mean—”

“She’s in shock, too? Like Grams?”

“I think it’s a different kind of shock, but yeah. Definitely in shock.” And that’s dangerous at best.

“You’re scared she would hurt me like you?”

“What? No, no, no.” He’s skeptical. “Okay, I’m scared. But not of that. I don’t think your mom would ever hurt you. It’s just hard, Henry.”

“‘kay.”

She was kind of expecting more resistance.

“You think you can sleep now?”

“You’ll be back, right?”

“Yeah, kid. I’ll be back.”

“Okay.” He closes his eyes just to placate her, she knows.

She leans in and kisses him, nuzzling his face a little. He always feels so good. She kisses his forehead again and whispers, “I love you, Henry.”

“I love you too, Emma.”

 

* * *

 

She parks the Bug on the other side of the street. She walks up to Regina’s, her interaction with Henry and the fondness of their whispered love fresh in her ears, and the warmth of food in her hands, in to-go paper bags given to her by Granny during at her pitstop at the diner.

She’s standing in front of the little portal of Regina’s walkway up to the massive mansion. It must have been nice, growing up in one of those.

“Don’t worry, she won’t bite your head off twice.”

“What the—” Emma almost drops all her stuff, and her insides, right there as she discerns Ruby walking up to her.

On Regina’s property. Pretty much from around the house. From Regina’s backyard.

She’s barefooted and only wearing the tugging warm running capris and white shirt she had been sporting at the diner earlier. Minus shoes and hoody.

“The fuck, Ruby?!”

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” Except she did.

“Right.” Emma looks at the house. “You… talked to her?”

“I didn’t. Not exactly.” Fine, be cryptic.

“Well, I’m glad to see you haven’t tried to get into it with her or anything.”

“That’s not why I came here, Emma.” She nods to the bags in Emma’s arms. “I see Granny sent you with a peace offering.”

“She didn’t send me. She just ordered me to make sure she eats and all that.”

“Same thing, really.” Ruby stops by her side after opening the small gate. There’s no way Regina isn’t aware that they’re out there. Ruby isn’t even attempting to be discreet. “It’s early for you to try and have her eat. Or talk.”

Ruby is studying her with such—is it wisdom? Or patience, or something very Jedi-Master-like and she feels, not for the first time, like a novice Padawan Learner.

“It’s early to ask anything of her, really.”

“I’m just bringing her food and checking in on her. It’s not like there is anything else I can do.” She looks down to her own scruffy boots. “It’s not like an apology is going to change anything.”

“You want to shut up and listen to her.” That sounds like a gentler version of Granny’s orders.

“So you’ll… help?”

Ruby is Snow’s best friend. Yet, she came to Regina.

She nods and walks right past Emma.

“Front door’s unlocked. Be patient, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

 

* * *

 

Emma climbs the front steps of the porch. She knocks. She counts three Mississippis and nothing happens. With a nervous sigh, she opens the door, unlocked as Ruby predicted.

“Regina, it’s Emma.” She’s not making the same mistake twice.

Another three Mississippis, nothing explodes. She’s not lifted off the ground or thrown through any walls.

“Okay.” Emma says it more for herself than anyone else, but, yeah, she’s scared shitless. She swallows, puts her nerves in check. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. I’m going to the kitchen.”

There was light coming from the study. She knows where Regina is.

She’s not exactly loud at all. She’s quiet but quick to walk to the kitchen, turning the light switch on. She’s got her arms full of food, enough for two. She sets the bag on the kitchen island, walking around it to reach for the cupboard. She finds plates, glasses, silverware, and placemats, so she sets up dinner for two on the kitchen island.

There’s homemade mushroom soup and warm biscuits. They make her stomach rumble. She can smell chicken and she lifts the lids off the containers, “Ow!” Green beans with shallots and some very hot sauce that Emma sucks off of her already reddening index finger.

She looks up to find Regina just barely two steps away from her. Emma watches Regina studying her.

Her eyes are red and puffy. Her hair is dishevelled. Her clothes are wrinkled. She looks… stunning. Grief stricken, cheeks flushed, contrasting with her usually darker skin. She looks angry, too, but conflicted. Like she’s not sure if she’s going to attack again or just accept Emma’s small and clumsy gesture of comfort.

Regina moves to the sink. She turns on the cold water. She doesn’t move.

It takes a minute for Emma to understand. Maybe not a full minute, but it sure feels like a long time. Staring and staring. The fiery lines still dancing angrily on Regina’s face, on her hands.

She gets her finger out of her mouth and joins Regina by the sink, placing her hand under the running water.

Regina smells of alcohol. She smells of chimney and burning wood. She’s not wearing shoes. She’s barefooted, like Ruby. She’s wearing some expensive looking pajamas and a robe. It’s late. Maybe after all this time sitting in front of her fireplace, drinking and crying, she didn’t expect any more visitors. Or maybe she doesn’t care. She looks like she’s done fighting for the day.

Emma doesn’t know what to say. The silence is heavy, too heavy to break. She’s not tasting sauce anymore, though. Close to Regina, it’s her she can taste. Regina’s magic, or essence, or whatever it is. It sparks inside of her and it’s in her mouth. It’s in her nostrils. It even rings in her ears and roots her to the kitchen floor.

It must be the same for Regina because, when Emma swallows, she does, too. They’re not moving. In the distance of her mind, the cold water feels nice on her finger. They thrum together, magic reminiscent, humming softly under her skin.

Regina’s eyes dart in every direction, maybe hers do, too. She seems restless suddenly.

The water stops. Regina busies herself serving them soup in two bowls, rearranging chicken and green beans on their plates.

Emma joins her. She hops on a high stool. She waits. Regina sits opposite her and only when she’s broken a biscuit does Emma feed herself a spoonful of soup.

Regina eats very little at first. Emma watches her take small swallows of soup, some pieces of biscuit. Granny’s biscuits are very good. Ruby said to listen, and so she’s quiet. She doesn’t want to miss anything.

They eat, lulled in silence, until there’s no more soup in Regina’s bowl, some of the chicken is gone and most of the green beans. She’s even had more biscuit with that very nice sauce that went with the dish.

Emma ate her fill. She hadn’t realized how famished she was until sitting there.

She gets up and put the dishes in the sink. She cleans them, leaving only the glasses out. She feels maybe her glass of water will give her some countenance.

Regina still isn’t saying a word.

Emma waits.

There was more food in the bags. Granny sent enough for some lunch. Emma puts it away in Regina’s fridge, fascinated by the smooth and pristine marble of her counter tops.. There are more biscuits, so Emma reaches for a basket, and puts the remaining pieces in it.

Then she turns around and studies Regina for a long time. She doesn’t understand why Regina lets her. And then it dawns on her.

“You’re not going to talk to me.”

There are tears gathering at the corner of Regina’s eyes. Emma is at her side before she can think of what she’s doing, but catches herself before touching Regina.

She takes a deep breath when the thrumming returns.

She feels stupid when she realizes she hasn’t even taken her jacket off. The red one. It didn’t suffer any damage and she’s glad about that, stupid as it is. Emma reaches for her inside pocket. She deposits a red bandanna, neatly folded, by Regina’s hand, spread and white knuckled on top the kitchen island. She’s fighting sobs, Emma knows.

“I’m glad you ate.” Emma tries to smile but she’s overwhelmed by the hurt and sadness in Regina’s dark, red rimmed, shining eyes.

“I’ll be back.”

Regina looks like she’s biting her tongue.

“Please… be gentle to yourself?”

She’s said it before. She has no idea what else to do. She stands still for a moment, letting, willing this warm magical feed of theirs to wrap itself around Regina and give her all the comfort she can’t.

She closes her eyes with the intent.

She opens them again at the sound of rushing bare feet dull on the parlor’s floor, then the wooden stairs.

She leaves the bandanna on the kitchen island.


	3. Gentle Rejection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Regina puts her mother to rest, Emma is still trying to figure out how to be supportive of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks go to the usual suspects for helping me through this chapter and all the rust and pain in my debilitated writing brain.
> 
> Anyway, it's here, thanks for your patience. I shall try to give you chapter 4 soon, it's planned and all. Who knows, I might even gain some momentum.
> 
> Oh and I wanted to say, it's been my general headcanon that Regina taught Henry Spanish since infancy, among other things, as part of her desire to share her heritage with him. It'll be explored further down the line in this story, the questions of heritage and identity, but just to say, it's in all of my work, explained in details or not, and it matters.
> 
> Also, fuck conjunctions.
> 
> Enjoy,
> 
> C.

_**Previously:** _

" _I'm glad you ate." Emma tries to smile but she's overwhelmed by the hurt and sadness in Regina's dark, red-rimmed, shining eyes._

" _I'll be back." Regina looks like she's biting her tongue. "Please… be gentle to yourself?"_

_She's said it before. She has no idea what else to do. She stands still for a moment, letting, willing, this warm magical feed of theirs to wrap itself around Regina and give her all the comfort she can't._

_She closes her eyes with the intent._

_She opens them again at the sound of rushing bare feet dull on the parlor's floor, then the wooden stairs._

_She leaves the bandana on the kitchen island._

 

* * *

 

It's early, but Regina would do that, Emma thinks, hide her pain in discipline and the discretion of dawn. She's at the mausoleum none the less. She wanted to be here. She said she would be on Regina's side, by her side.

It's brisk, the air quiet and humid, with only the echo of her footsteps on the mossy ground until the familiar clunk of a cane on stone rings in her ears. Of all fuckers.

"Gold," Emma stops before the couple of steps leading to the crypt's opened doors. Her tone is as cold as the air. Ready for a fight.

"Hello, Miss Swan," Gold has the wisdom to step down to her level.

"What are you doing here?" She's aggressive. She doesn't care.

Gold snickers. "Paying my respects, Miss Swan. Cora and I had ... history, if you will."

"You had her killed in the most disgusting way. You had Regina cast your Dark Curse. You almost had all of us killed to save your neck. Now you think you can just show up for pleasantries?" He has no shame. Not one ounce.

"It's not me you should be concerned about, dearie. Wounded animals are the most dangerous."

"She's wounded all right, because of you."

"Maybe so, but think a moment of all that revenge she's going to want, especially on your mother. You should maybe do something about it, Miss Swan, you have my grandson to care for." He smiles then, yellow teeth and disdainful lips.

It's bait, but she's not going to let him threaten Regina. Or Henry. Cora is gone. Gold found Neal, although Emma doubts that's all he was ever after. Greed.

"You survived, I went to New York with you and you found your son. You have what you wanted, this shit is over." She steps closer to him with her fist up. "You stay the hell away from my son, from his mother and from my family. You've done enough ravaged, you selfish bastard."

"Well, well, dearie," he dusts his front, "No need to use your big words, this is hardly the occasion. I was only giving you free advice. Contrary to you, I know Regina and what she is capable of."

"You know nothing, and you can shove it."

"Good day, Miss Swan." He nods. She's not done with him.

"Don't you dare hurt her again, Gold, or I promise you I will not rest until I find a way to end you."

"That's a big promise to make, dearie, and a lot of trouble to go through for a woman who is your enemy."

"She's not my enemy." He's walked past her and away. "The only enemy we've all ever had is you."

 

* * *

 

Emma steps in slowly. She counts a couple of Mississippi for good measure. It's not like she can say for certain Regina is done blowing her to pieces every time she enters a room she's in. She pauses though, not because she's afraid and she is, but because Regina is standing there, profile to her, head tilted and tears caught in the shy rays of light grasping the cold stone of the mausoleum. Sad and beautiful.

Regina is dressed in black, looking at Cora's body in a marble casket. Cora seems preserved as if by magic, fresh and peaceful. Nothing betraying all of her crimes, her cruelty. Maybe it's because in the end, she had her heart back for even just a second.

Emma knows what Snow explained. What she guessed herself. Cora was abusive to Regina. Why mourn a mother whom she feared so much? Emma saw it in Regina's eyes. Maybe it's the potential of what they could have had, if Cora had lived with her heart in her chest. Maybe it's what David said about Cora's last words,  _'you would have been enough'_. Imagine that. But then, Cora took her own heart out of her chest, didn't she? Keeping it amongst her things instead of where it always belonged.

Cora chose power over love, over life and joy. Over her child. Regina never stood a chance.

"Did you come here to gloat?" Regina's voice is low, she sounds exhausted.

"What? No." Emma is shaken from her thoughts, not certain how to answer. "I came here in support, okay?" She steps in closer to where Regina stands. At least Regina is speaking to her this time.

"I don't need your support, Miss Swan." Regina doesn't look at her. "You wanting to support me has cost me my son."

"I talked to Henry-" Emma starts.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you did." Regina scowls, her eyes filling with more tears.

"No, not like that-" She refuses to cause Regina more pain.

"He must hate me, I hurt his hero again. It was enough that I baked that stupid turn-over, but now my mother, and then you just walked in-" Regina covers her mouth. She bites her hand.

"Regina, I'm sorry, I know this all sucks," Emma tries gently. She loathes herself for being so ill-equipped with words. She extends a hand towards Regina's arm feeling the thrum of their magic come to life. She forgets to breathe until she realizes Regina has closed her eyes, she's feeling it too. "I talked to him and he understands."

"Understands what?" Regina whispers, "That I killed his mother?"

"That it wasn't what you wanted and that you healed me." She takes another step. She's not touching Regina, but she's in her space. "He's worried, he's confused, but he loves you and he wants to help."

Emma carefully places a hand on Regina's left forearm. Something roars inside her.

"Don't." Regina's eyes are still closed, her head slightly turned, a myriad of emotions playing on her features. Her eyelashes are heavy with tears, her brow furrowed in a frown of pain, nostrils flaring as she breathes in little huffs. Emma immediately retracts her hand. Regina looks at her then, she's transfixed. "Don't give me hope."

But that's all she wants to do.

"You're his mom. He loves you-" This time, the interruption is her phone. She picks it up, apologetic. It's David. She hangs up. "He needs you. We can figure this out, Regina-" Her phone rings again. It's David, again. "I'm sorry," she says, hitting the green icon on her screen.

"David, I told you not to call me." He had to interrupt.

" _Henry isn't here. Is he with you?"_ David's voice is shaky.

"What do you mean he isn't there? He was sleeping in my bed when I left." She hears more than she sees the cover of the marble tomb put in place. Then Regina is by her side.

" _I don't know Emma, we've called him for breakfast, then I checked, he wasn't upstairs. His shoes and backpack are gone."_

"Who else did you call?" Emma looks at Regina and is pretty certain they both sport the same frantic look. Her free hand is trembling.

" _I started with you, I'm going out the door now."_  Emma can hear the lock working.

"Call Neal, I'll call Ruby. Get a radio." She hangs up.

Regina is looking at her, she's the one holding on to Emma's forearm this time. "Tell me."

"Henry's not at the loft."

 

* * *

 

They all meet at Granny's. David's been smart enough to bring gear from the Sheriff Station. They divide walkies, maps, and water bottles amongst themselves. Then Emma and David designate pairs to start looking. School kids' parents are being called this instant by Granny, and the guys from the fire department are there too.

Her hands are trembling.

Nobody mentions Regina, who is so uncharacteristically quiet, it's almost eerie. Emma would have expected her to be fussy, angry, or simply already gone to look on her own. Regina stays close to her. She lets her divide a grid to search for Henry, it's clear he's not downtown.

When everyone is assigned a partner, a zone to search, and a communication device, the group scatters pretty quickly, some on foot, some by car.

Emma hasn't even tried to direct Regina on what to do, and she's counting on Ruby to find Henry's trail. She feels sick with worry. With guilt. She blames herself, she blames David and Snow. They were too absorbed in their own problems to properly take care of Henry. To stop and listen. And let's be honest, it's not like any of them know how to do it right with a twelve year old kid.

Regina would know, even if she's made mistakes. She's the one who raised him. Emma looks at her, tense shoulders and bulging vein on her forehead, worried to death but standing in silence beside the people who took her child from her. Emma was concerned back then, but she's starting to see that she didn't really had any right to judge. She did what she thought was best, or did she?

"Regina," Emma says, "Where do you think we should look first? You know him best."

"You've made sure my son and I have been estranged recently, Miss Swan, I don't really know his state of mind."

There's nothing she can do right. It's going to take a lot to get back from all the damage she's caused.

Emma is at a loss but Ruby comes to the rescue. "He was pretty pissed about magic, and being kept in the dark all the time."

"How do you know?" Emma feels stupid the second she asks, Henry said magic was the cause of all the wrong that's happened to them numerous times.

"Em, he spends a lot of time with me and believe it or not we're pretty good pals. That's what happens when you treat the werewolf as a babysitter and the smartest kid in the class as a toddler."

Emma looks at her boots, properly put in her place. She's not afforded the time to dwell on her guilt though. She can't make her hands stop trembling.

"Thank you, Miss Lucas, for your insight, we are all aware that Miss Swan's ability to parent is painfully lacking. Now is not the time, we need to find Henry." Regina doesn't look at her at all saying that, she's not scowling, just disdainful in her tone. Nothing alike what they usually do, as if she doesn't deserve the familiarity.

"I picked up his scent all over, like he went in plenty of directions this morning."

"Decoys," Emma says.

"That means he has something in mind," Regina supplies. "We must find him before he does something reckless. You should run these decoys until you find the right trail." She's speaking to Ruby.

Regina is gone, wrapped in volutes of purple before Emma can ask how they're supposed to stay in contact or what she's going to do. The flat rejection of them teaming up or even working together definitely stings, but doesn't surprise her. All that matters is that they find Henry. She trusts Regina to do whatever it takes.

Ruby and Emma run all over Storybrooke for the entire morning until they both end up at the mine and realize what Henry is up to. Regina doesn't answer her phone when Emma tries to reach her. She leaves her car at the end of the road before the forest trail starts. Ruby leads the way and it doesn't take them too long to find themselves at the Well of Wishes.

Regina has found Henry.

Emma smiles, she lets the relief flood her, until she realizes that he's holding a stack of dynamite bars by the mouth of the well. She hesitates but resists the urge to rush over to him. She and Ruby are close enough to hear what's being said, but Regina and Henry do not seem to have noticed them.

Her hands are still trembling. She's going to trust in Regina.

"Sweetheart, listen to me," Regina pleads with him but Henry lits another match that she extinguishes right away.

"We have to destroy magic, Mom, it's making everything evil."

"The only thing you are going to destroy by throwing dynamite in this well is you."

"Then help me do it right." He sounds dejected, even from where Emma and Ruby are standing.

With another pass of her hand, Regina makes the dynamite disappear. She steps closer to him, then gently takes his hand in hers. They look at each other quietly for a brief moment. Emma watches Regina's features soften. It's not just that she's being motherly, Emma gets the feeling that she's watching mother and son being themselves, how they were, are, without her.

"I can't help you destroy magic, hijo." The sound is new to Emma, but apparently not to Regina and Henry. No, to them it seems to be quite like home.

She quite expected Regina to tell Henry anything he would want to hear, but it seems that's not the path she's choosing to go.

"Why not?" Henry is so stubborn.

"Because magic is not evil, Henry, it's how people use it that can be."

"Like when you hurt Emma with yours?" Ouch.

"Yes," Emma can see Regina swallow.

"But then she said you healed her." Good boy.

"I didn't mean… Yes, I healed her."

"That was magic for good."

"It was."

"So you're not evil." Leave it to the kid. If he can't destroy magic, he'll take the next best thing. "If you promise to stop using magic, then I'll come home with you."

Even for a twelve year old, that's low, and manipulative. Little shit.

It almost looks like Regina goes weak at the knees the way she fumbles in front of him. She swallows a sob, and shakes her head.

"I really, really want you to come home, cariño, but we can't do it that way. Magic is inside of me, it's part of who I am, you can't ask me to stop being magical. We need to trust each other again, we need to be good together again."

"How do we do that?" He puts his hands on her face, wiping tears she can't hold at all. She's smiling at him through them. Emma's heart is aching.

"I don't know, but I know that I want you to come home when you really want it, when you're ready, not because of anything else."

"No more lying," he says. He looks so very serious suddenly.

She nods and wraps her arms around him. "No more running away with dynamite."

"'kay," he says, placing his arms around her neck. "Mamá?"

"Sí?" Emma had no idea they spoke Spanish with each other. She wonders what else she has no idea about.

He really is hers. It's confusing how much it hurts for something that feels so right. She's jealous, she knows that. But is she jealous of what they have or simply that she's not part of it? Maybe it's both. Either way, she set out to help, and take care of these two and that's what she's going to do.

"I'm sorry Grams killed your mom."

 

* * *

 

"Stop freaking out," Ruby tells her for the hundredth time. "You've done the right thing letting them be together."

"I know that. It's not what's worrying me." She sips at her third hot chocolate and all she can taste is cinnamon on the tip of her tongue.

"I thought you wanted the kid to be with his mother, so what's really worrying you?" Ruby is sitting in front of her, she's not on duty but she's still the one who made their drinks.

"I didn't even think she would call, Ruby. She called, and she told me the truth. About the dynamite. About everything. She's bringing him back."

"Yeah, I was there too."

"I didn't tell her that we overheard everything." Emma looks at Ruby in earnest. She didn't want to lie, but she did pry on Regina and Henry's moment. "I have to tell her."

"Yes, you do." Ruby places a hand on hers. "It'll be okay, Em."

"You don't know that. And I don't know when she's coming here with him. I don't know anything at all."

She's panicking. Slightly. She doesn't know them together, mother and son. She took him, she doesn't know them and she took him. She was so wrong.

She meant well then. She means well now. Meaning well isn't going to change anything. Meaning well, it's what Snow does.

"You have to take it one step at a time," Ruby says as if she can hear her thoughts. "She's grieving, she's lost a lot and taken a whole lot of shit. I'm not saying she's an angel, but you have to admit, the road to redemption has been a bitch to her." Ruby's eyes are soft and full of a compassion Emma never stopped to acknowledge.

"Why didn't we talk about this before?" Emma asks, she knows though, she didn't listen and she's an idiot.

"We're talking about it now, and that's good." Ruby smiles at her, "Guilt isn't going to help you very much."

She does feel guilty, but Ruby's right. She needs to focus on listening, on caring for Henry, and Regina. Hopefully in time, Regina can see she's not alone anymore.

Ruby stands, a hand on her shoulder, and Emma looks up to see her nod.

"Hey Ruby," Henry says.

"Hey Henry, Regina," she picks up their mugs on the table. "You guys hungry?"

"Mom made me dinner before we came, but thanks."

He's such a good kid. When he's not sneaking around or stealing dynamite.

Henry slides his body next to hers on the seat of the booth. He's not his usual self, someone else is having a case of guiltitis. Regina sits opposite them and they both look up in unison. Regina says nothing, she looks tired, weary and beautiful. Expectant.

Henry turns to Emma. "I'm sorry I ran away and tried to blow up the well."

She runs a hand in her hair, she doesn't know what to say. He's been parented already.

She was so fucking worried about him, so scared. She sighs.

She wraps her arms around him pulling him in, she feels her eyes prickle with tears. She looks only at Regina, impassible. She silently mouths,  _"Thank you."_

She kisses the crown of his head. "Don't you ever do something that reckless again, you hear me?"

"I won't." It's not that he's lying, but she's not very confident in his sense of self-preservation.

"You scared me to death, kid."

"I'm sorry." It'll have to do for now.

"'kay," she rests her cheek on top his head. She wipes the tears obstructing her vision.

"Okay," he says, his arms around her.

Her eyes never leave Regina's.

 

* * *

 

It doesn't take too long for Henry to fall asleep in her bed, upstairs at the loft. David has made dinner when she comes in but she's due to pick up food at the Diner for Regina again, for Regina and her. He's not happy about her leaving the loft, she finds herself not caring at all for his opinion. They lost Henry. It might be irrational and she's said nothing, but anger is welling inside her, swirling, slow burning toward her parents. She hasn't much of an inclination to rein it in. Snow is mute, David is broody, Neal is gone.

They're the good guys yet something is toxic in the air. Suffocating.

She rings the bell this time, she gets no answer. The brown bags full of containers in her arms are a bit 's light coming from the study, and somewhere upstairs too. She hesitates, shifting the weight of the two brown bags from one arm to the other.

Henry gave her the keys. No new operation code name or leather bound book.

She balances the brown bags to her left arm to open the front door, letting herself in.

"Regina?" She calls, "It's Emma." Duh.

"I'm going to the kitchen, 'kay?" And like the previous night, she goes straight for the kitchen.

There's no trace of anything out of place, not even the dinner Regina cooked for Henry. She most likely hasn't eaten herself.

She unpacks the bags, curious of what Granny is feeding them tonight - she's starving - but this time, she's mindful of her fingers. She gets plates, glasses and silverware, quietly content that she's ok here, in the kitchen.

Regina doesn't silently surprise her though. Barefeet, disheveled and beautiful. And fuck how much she's dreading seeing her again, how much she wants to.

Emma thinks she might be in her study waiting for her to be done. Surely she doesn't want her here, Emma doesn't blame her. She sighs heavily, rejection tastes like char in her mouth, in her memories, she's never been good at dealing with it, that, what it triggers for her.

When she knocks on the door of the study, she's careful to wait a few seconds to give Regina a chance to call her in. Nothing comes.

Emma steps in, in that space that seems to hold different Reginas. There's a fancy carafe of something that must be expensive and strong liquor on the desk. It's open, the crystal stopper lying close by. The fire in the chimney is burning low, it could use a new log. The lamp on Regina's desk is on, that's how Emma can see Regina's heels at the feet of the couch. A throw undone, abandoned almost to the rugged floor.

This is Regina's domain and she's trespassing. The books, the leather couch where she must spend hours reading, the desk covered in papers, a laptop, a journal with a fancy fountain pen on its cover. Henry's drawings, the photographs she's itching to dig out from the photo albums she can discern on the shelves under the window.

She shouldn't be here, but she's dying to know more. Regina was on the defensive and she just kept on pushing and pushing, juvenile and entitled and jealous, so so jealous. Pathetic really. She knows where they come from, her own insecurities, maybe even some of Regina's, but she was blinded… Emma shakes her head, she needs to stop rehashing over and over again how she fucked up, that she's sorry.

Emma folds the throw, stoppers the carafe, picks up Regina's heels and turns off the light. Regina must be in her bedroom. In the foyer, she takes her boots off, then she ascends.

She's not dying tonight.

The door is open, the bedside lamp is on. There's not a hint of what has happened here the day before. Not a shard of glass or ceramic or metal, nothing out of place. The wall she went through is like new, the floor feels smooth under her feet. Erased.

Should she be angry? It's as if it didn't matter. But it did, oh how it did, just not like that. She traces the last of lines on her flesh with a light fingertip, her belly. Where she was stabbed. There's the same line inside the palm of Regina's hand. Where she stabbed.

Regina is asleep, atop her bed. There's an empty tumblr of something mostly drained on her nightstand. She's dressed as she was earlier at the Diner, formal and ill at ease. She's not peaceful in her slumber.

Emma looks and looks, the crease of her expressive brow, the downturn of her inviting lips, the bulging vein of her forehead, always betraying her. She listens to her upset moans and grunts of discomfort. To her cries. To Regina's calling.

She refuses to resist it. She's close to her in a heartbeat, Regina's heels deposited on the padded floor.

"Regina," Emma says softly, the flavor of their magic is in her mouth again. It hums with warmth everywhere in her body.

It's probably reckless. Completely inappropriate. Emma traces the line in Regina's palm with her fingertips, smooth and gentle, almost frail at the fragile skin of her wrist. She revels in Regina's pulse, beating as hers, she knows. They're singing. If it only alleviate the grief, even just a little.

She trails her hand on Regina's arm, carefully, tenderly. She leans in watching the emotions play on her face, worried with pain. The whimpers of misery lessen, but Emma isn't satisfied, she's determined for Regina to have relief.

"Regina," Emma calls, as softly as she can without whispering. "It's okay, I've got you."

The brown of Regina's eyes is so dark but so light, it's disarming. Emma is always lost in them, carrying so many lives, so much strength and vulnerability, everything and its contrary and maybe even the universe. And love, so much fucking love. If Emma felt she had half of Regina's intensity, she'd wear her aviators even on rainy days.

"Emma," Regina doesn't shy away from her.

She's almost holding her now. Her right hand is spread on the round tip and blade of Regina's shoulder. With her left fingers, she gently brushes a strand of hair from Regina's forehead, never looking away, she can't. The light is dim, bathing Regina's darker skin. She absorbs it, her skin turning to gold, long lashes shining with dew of tears she's almost shed in her sleep.

Emma wants to be allowed to stare. To remember. This Regina whom she's made a point of denying.

She knows she has to speak. They're not… not yet. "It's okay," she closes her eyelids merely an instant to inhale the intensity of what is ringing in harmony underneath the very edge of her skin, of their skin. "Let me… I know you feel it, this thing," Emma wets her lips once, at the thought of her boldness, she delicately cups Regina's cheek, "We don't have to discuss it."

Emma doesn't care much for her own comfort, she wants Regina close to her, safely into her. And no, she's not dwelling on that now. She replaces her hand with her own cheek to Regina's soft, soft skin, encompassing her in her arms as gently as she knows how. She sits in the space of Regina's midsection, never letting go of Regina flushed and cradled inside her, and shifts both their bodies, mostly lifting Regina so that she can rests against her chest, in her lap.

How light Regina is, it surprises her again. Small giant.

Regina is tense, sharp angles and deafening resistance. That's how it's going to be, them, and this, until they find a way to soften the edges. Emma can feel Regina's reluctance, her conflict in wanting this, but not her. Regina takes purchase on her shirt, she folds her knees against her side. Emma holds her. She covers Regina with the throw she's half sitting on, and she holds her. It's uncomfortable and straining to her but she doesn't care about the burning and ache tearing in her muscles. It's a price she'll pay for the gentlest of rejections.

The violence of her heart breaking has her bite her tongue but she doesn't allow herself any more. She listens so she can calm herself and find it, the magic, their magic.

The house is quiet, not a sound but the breathing coming from both of them. The same breath. It's strange to feel the strain in her body when she's overwhelmed with the goodness of their magic together. Emma closes her eyes, she focuses, she wants all of it to wrap around Regina in a thrumming blanket of safety and comfort.

She's rocking them for a while before she notices, and really, who cares? She just knows she would have liked that, she would like that, being held and rocked, once in a while when it all becomes too hard to bear and hope isn't enough to keep you on your feet. To keep you going at it.

Regina's eyelashes graze the skin of her temple at times, each occurrence so vivid. She's wanted to do this for a long time, it imposes itself to her. She's always wanted to find her own place with Regina. All she did was push and pull and hurt, divided between her new found family and their old enemy, mother to a son Emma is now terrified of losing.

It's sort of fucked up, as irony goes.

Regina's body finally relaxes in her arms, exhaling slowly, Emma can feel the flow of air on the nape of her neck. She smiles, aware her lips touch Regina's cheek, she likes that she can do that, help Regina relax.

It breaks the spell though. Regina pulls away from her, pausing only to look her in the eye intently.

Maybe Regina read her mind, or Emma's smile gave her away. Without a word Regina disentangles herself from Emma who misses the warmth immediately. She wants to apologize. Again. She wants to tell her it's not what she thinks, but Emma doesn't know what Regina thinks and she's done making assumptions.

Regina is standing now, but she's wobbly.

"I brought food." Emma hopes, she could hit herself over the head for fucking up again.

Regina turns round at her bedroom door, only carrying her empty tumblr, she doesn't wait for Emma to follow.

Emma follows, she pauses on the stairs, prays Regina makes a turn for the kitchen when they reach the first floor.

She does. That's as much an invitation as she's going to get.

Regina gets to work with their dinner. When Emma makes to help her, she speaks for the first time.

"Sit down, Miss Swan." She sounds like she's smoked a pack of cigarettes and drank entirely too much.

Emma does what she's told, she takes the same seat as the previous night. They're having pasta and meatballs. There's even grated parmesan and what smells like fresh garlic bread.

They eat in silence. The food feels good, she hadn't realized how famished she was. Not with all that fear knotting her stomach. It's not like it's gone though. She almost died the day before, meeting Gold didn't feel great either and then Henry… But most of all there's Regina. Emma has no idea what she's supposed to do. She's getting the feeling that Regina is only being patient with her for Henry. She's probably not helping at all.

Regina lets her fork down, they're both done eating. Emma precedes her to the dishes, at least she can do that, before she loses herself with all the nervousness. She washes and dries under the quiet but molten scrutiny boring holes in her back.

"I'm done here," Regina says, "You can see yourself out the same way you let yourself in."

It's not even a snarl or a bite. Gentle rejection.

And then she's gone and up the stairs.

Emma blinks the tears from her eyes as quick as she can to recover. She rushes to the foyer to put her boots on, and her jacket. She foregoes her gloves and beanie, she's shaking enough as it is. Henry's keys in her right hand, she gives one last glance to the staircase, pausing, the front door open. Something catches her eye on the floor, midway up the stairs.

Her red bandana.

Emma crosses the threshold and locks the door behind her. As she retrieves the key from the knob, she rests her forehead to the heavy wood.

"Let me in."


	4. Tender Uncertainty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overwhelmed by Regina's silence and desperate to bring her comfort, Emma organizes for Henry and Regina to spend time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll thank the usual suspects for their support and editing, Syb, Giorgia, Alyssa.
> 
> Chapter 5 is in editing, you might be in for a treat faster than I thought.
> 
> Enjoy,
> 
> C.
> 
> You can find me on twitter and tumblr. under paradoxalpoised.

 

_**Previously:** _

" _I'm done here," Regina says, "You can see yourself out the same way you let yourself in."_

_It's not even a snarl or a bite. Gentle rejection._

_And then she's gone and up the stairs._

_Emma blinks the tears from her eyes as quick as she can to recover. She rushes to the foyer to put her boots on, and her jacket. She foregoes her gloves and beanie, she's shaking enough as it is. Henry's keys in her right hand, she gives one last glance to the staircase, pausing, the front door open. Something catches her eye on the floor, midway up the stairs._

_Her red bandana._

_Emma crosses the threshold and locks the door behind her. As she retrieves the key from the knob, she rests her forehead to the heavy wood._

" _Let me in."_

 

* * *

"Hi, Mom!" Henry is bouncing on the heels of his feet on the front porch of the mansion.

They rang the bell. They both have their arms full of bags with groceries, and Emma's already decided she's going to let the kid take the lead on this one.

Regina is standing there, the front door opened, her eyes immediately imbued with tears, a smile beautifully gracing her face as she takes in Henry. The smile. She did the right thing, it doesn't matter if she takes shit for it, wherever from.

"Hi, sweetheart," Regina manages.

She's only wearing pajamas and a robe. Emma is staring. She knows she's staring. Tousled hair, no make-up. No bra, no underwear. Body and soul. Bare.

"We've brought groceries," he takes one step toward his mother with his shit-eating grin and there you go, he's won.

"Oh," Regina moves sideways, "Of course, come in."

Henry walks on and Emma follows, "Hey…" Regina looks at her sharply but Emma gives her somewhat of a sheepish smile. It's good to hear her voice- and yeah not ashamed.

It's early, they're in, this is going to work.

It's been over a week since Cora's death, and she's getting nowhere. She's been at Regina's every night, she's tried to be as respectful and calm as she knows how. She's tried to talk, gently, she's tried to let the silence come to feel like companionship but it kind of only feels like Regina is tolerating her and the longer that lasts, the longer Regina suffers.

And that's just not okay.

Regina doesn't initiate, she just allows Emma to hold her. It's only some nights. Their magic whirls and swirls, alive, a vessel of emotions bathed in warmth and safety. When that happens, Emma takes the time to relax, to breathe in, to taste. The intimacy, the physicality is incredibly confusing- and not at all, but she can't bring herself to deny it to either of them. It's the only time Regina somewhat interacts with her.

It mustn't be the only comfort Regina gets- hence Henry. It might be killing two birds with one stone or what not, but it's good for them, and it's good for Regina especially. So slow and steady, but they're doing this. This is going to work.

Emma busies herself putting groceries away under Regina's distracted scrutiny. Henry is babbling a mile a minute. He's following the plan. So far Regina hasn't had a chance to ask either of them what they're doing here.

"So, Mom?" Henry sits at the kitchen island while Emma is buried deep in the fridge. "Emma didn't make me breakfast, we kind of went directly to the store and I'm hungry. Do you think we can have pancakes?"

Emma looks at Regina sideways, she knows she's being ambushed, that's obvious, but to her credit she's taking it exceptionally well. He's staying, she isn't, Regina just doesn't know yet. It'll feel more genuine when Emma's gone.

"I suppose we can have pancakes," Regina says, not all that reluctantly which gives Emma pause.

She watches Regina turn around to the kitchen cabinet for a bowl, pointing toes, a sliver of skin, toned stomach, gentle slope of hip. It's good Emma is already on her knees. It's her cue though.

"All right," she says, leaving a box of fresh blueberries on the island, "You enjoy."

Regina whips around so fast, Emma is impressed she's still as graceful as a ballerina on her pointed toes. She smiles. She smiles at her, warm and safe and reassuring- an it'll-be-okay-I'm-sorry-but-it's-good-like-this smile.

"Later, Emma," Henry, too, is smiling. It's a good, warm, earnest smile, all the way to his eyes and eyebrows and forehead.

"See you guys at dinner," she ruffles his hair on her way out, not looking, very purposefully not looking at Regina.

A "Miss Swan?" rings in her ears but she's already closing the front door behind her and trotting down the path to the gate and then to the Bug.

This is going to work.

 

* * *

 

Emma rings the bell for the second time on this day, carrying a very large, widely-peppered with all sorts of ingredients, freshly-baked pizza, and a jug of fresh-squeezed organic lemonade.

She can hear Henry rush to the door, answering his mother that, "It's fine Mom, it's only Emma," and she can't help the smile that creeps on her so overwhelmingly.

"Hey, kid!" She's cheerful, he looks happy to see her, he looks like he's doing just fine. "I come bearing glad tidings."

"Pizza!" He's already forgotten about her, and her stupid lines, and picked up the pizza box from her hands, walking straight to the kitchen.

She waits right there, though, on the threshold of Regina's house. Regina and Henry's. She notices Regina, barely in her sight, watching the scene from the living room's entrance in the parlor.

"May I come in?" Emma asks politely.

"Would you not if I said no?" Regina's voice is cool, but not biting.

Emma shrugs, "Depends," she's not going to lie. She's disrespected Regina before, she's capable of doing it again, she sort of has already. No need to bullshit her.

Henry emerges from the kitchen, "Emma, Mom, aren't you coming?"

Saved by the bell.

She waits still.

"You may come in." Regina walks to the kitchen without sparing her a glance. Touché.

Henry tells her to sit and rushes to the pantry for an interestingly-shaped bottle of what must be homemade spicy oil for the pizza. She can see bright red pimentos floating about. Regina gets them plates, when she opens the silverware drawer, Henry just chuckles at her that "It's pizza, Mom, finger food, you know?" and Regina smiles. Her beautiful Henry smile. Emma is half thinking she did that just to tease him, moms would do that, right? Good moms.

Emma gets up for glasses, she's set the fresh jug of organic lemonade on the island. Both Regina and Henry watch her. She wants to ask,  _"What?"_ , she shrugs instead.

Confidence is hard.

"Hey Emma, what did you do today?" Henry asks her.

"Nothing very interesting, I tried to avoid the loft a little. I hung out with Ruby around lunch, we went for a run together, then Granny made us eat all the calories we lost."

"Mom and I also hung out, and we baked cookies." He takes a large bite of pizza.

"Dude, you're lucky."

"Yeah," he says without even realizing what he's doing, "Mom is the best at hanging out."

Emma was expecting him to say at baking.

Regina is nibbling at her pizza, she's blushing. She's looking down, looking at him, not looking at her. She wants to ask what it's like hanging out with Regina, with your mom. Instead she smiles.

Regina blushes too, it's damn human, and it's damn cute.

"I'm stuffed," Emma makes a show of stretching her arms above her head.

Regina is not making eye contact, she ate though, a slice and a half- Emma isn't keeping track at all. She's wearing jeans and a cashmere cardigan that looks so very soft, Emma wants to rub her face in it- on it, not in it.

"Emma, can we stay for a movie?" Henry asks her, again apparently, she wasn't paying attention. Something about an inviting cardigan on his mother's chest.

Henry is looking at her with his perfect puppy dog look, this wasn't part of the plan. She already has her idea anyway. Regina's hand is a white-knuckled grasp of her napkin.

"Tell you what," Emma jumps off her stool, "Why don't you stay the night, and I'll see you tomorrow at dinner?"

Regina's head shoots up, her eyes locking in shock with Emma's.

"Yeah?" Henry's voice is more than hopeful.

"As long as it's okay with your mother."

"Of course it is, this is Henry's home," Regina snaps.

It's not unexpected, Emma is giving her a rollercoaster ride. With feelings, with hope, with her child.

"Great then, see you guys tomorrow." Henry wraps his arms around her, Emma bends over to kiss his forehead, she places her cheek to the crown of his head, eyes closed then falling on Regina watching her.

She smiles. She leaves. This is going to work.

 

* * *

 

She rings the bell a third time that weekend.

It went fast. One night and one more day without Henry. It was lonely at the loft without him but she went out for a drink at Granny's, indulging in Ruby's gentle and supportive smile. She slept in, not wanting to meet a now speaking again Snow at breakfast, then she went to the station for inventory. She's neglected her duties. Since the curse broke she's neglected her duties, but she needs to get back to that. She wants Storybrooke to be  _'normal'_ , as much as possible, so they can have a life.

She's tired of having to fight evil schemes or powerful sorcerers and monsters. She's tired. She's not sure what she wants her life to look like, precisely, but for sure they all need to readjust Storybrooke so they can have good, healthy lives. She wants that.

Emma brought dinner, because that's what she does, and she's hasn't exactly been invited so far. She's fidgeting, Henry isn't rushing to the door.

"Miss Swan," Regina greets her.

"Regina," Emma's voice is already betraying her. "Hey…"

She's wearing the same jeans as the day before, faded and fitting and cool, Emma isn't staring, just peeking. It's not the same cardigan, it's a loose soft cotton shirt with a long open woolen vest. Her hair is waving every direction at the bottom, as it does, her makeup is light. It's peculiar, noticing, paying attention to all details Regina. Not that she hasn't done it before, because she has, but now feels like something more. New.

Regina is looking at her too, she realizes, appraising her is a better word.

She lifts the bags in her arms a little higher.

"Henry is setting the table," Regina turns around to the kitchen, leading the way.

Emma exhales and inhales a deep breath. She tries to be discreet, she gets the feeling she isn't.

This is going to blow up in her face. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.

"Hey, Emma," Henry smiles at her, genuine and sweet, he's happy. "What's for dinner?"

"Don't know, but I have a feeling it's green," She sets the bags on the counter closest to the kitchen entrance. "I got a scolding from Granny for bringing in pizza for dinner last night after I had a cheeseburger for lunch."

"Burn," he laughs at her.

Emma can't see Regina. She can feel the anger in the air though. Actually it's not in the air at all. She can feel it dangerously rising inside of her, through whatever their magic is together.

"You had a good day today?" She's the one asking this time.

"Yes." He doesn't offer the details. It's okay, it's his house, his mom, his weekend. He's allowed. She's jealous. It's not his problem.

She swallows. She brings the containers to the island. As if stepping away from Regina behind her is going to help at all with the dread growing in the pit of her stomach.

"What about you?" Henry sits down, and digs in. Regina does the same. Pointedly.

"I did the inventory at the station." She fills her mouth with green beans, chews, coughs, almost chokes. Shit.

Regina serves her water, precisely, she even hands her the glass. Probably finding her panic delectable. Their fingers brush.

"Emma, you're okay?" Henry asks, not completely oblivious, if the tone of his voice is any indication.

"Yeah, yeah, I am." She's not at all but he had a great weekend with his mom and that's what he deserves to keep. She needs to get a hold of herself.

They finish dinner while Henry speaks of his upcoming week at school, how he likes that things are moving along now, with real teachers and stuff to do and then he says Grace's name for the first time. Regina looks at him, at her hands, then at him again and Emma doesn't understand what is going on but she has a feeling there's history there.

They wash the dishes, even if Henry complains that they have a dishwasher- she forgets, it's not that she's stalling. It's time to go. Henry looks like he knows it too, he's hugging Regina while she combs her fingers through his hair. She has him wrapped into her, her eyes closed, bent a little so she can kiss his forehead.

She's so sad, so beautiful, Emma wants to tell them he should stay. She wants to give everything, even what isn't hers to give.

Regina looks at her, a hard look, a look of courage and dignity. "I'll see you again soon, baby, go put your shoes and coat on."

He does what he's told, with a big sigh and a sad look to Emma.

"Regina-" Emma starts right away because these two have had enough heartache.

And she can't always be a coward.

"I don't know what game you're playing at, Miss Swan," Regina takes a deep breath, her eyes shine a bright silvery purple, "But it's rather cruel."

"I promise you, I'm not playing any game," Emma can feel with each step Regina takes toward her how much she's trying to control herself. She, in return, is trying to impress sincerity upon their bond.

"I don't give a fuck about your promises," Regina hisses, "Or your good intentions. I only care about Henry."

Regina is in her space now, inches from her, close enough that she can feel her breath on her face, smell the softened tones of her perfume. They stare at each other, Emma backed against the counter, her arms grasping the edge on each side of her, Regina almost against her. Emma knows when she's being threatened and so far, she's only ever fought Regina back with defiance, even cockiness. She has to change that. Surrender.

She forced Regina's hand this weekend, forced her open, even if she didn't do it for herself at all, it wasn't fair play and they both know it.

Emma lets out a sigh, "Look, I… He wanted to be with you and we both know you miss him too. I messed up, he belongs here, with you, 'kay?"

She thought for a minute she could be his mother. She hoped that she might get a second chance to keep him, to protect him, to be a better person, for him. She bites the inside of her bottom lip really hard. Idiot.

Regina doesn't say anything else, doesn't move. This quiet, over-emotional communication between them is fraying Emma's nerves. She's shed a couple of tears before she can do anything to prevent it. She has nowhere to hide and nowhere to run so she does the one thing she's been burning to do all weekend. She brings her forehead to Regina's, tender uncertainty, tangling her right fingers in the tip of a strand of her dark, silky hair. She almost sobs in relief, they haven't touched each other in two fucking days.

She expects some sort of violent rejection, but Regina remains immobile, calm. She rocks herself back and forth a couple of time then tears herself from Regina. She sniffles, she wipes her face with her sleeve.

Emma Swan doesn't cry.

"I'll bring him back next weekend, and anytime you want to see him or he wants to see you."

What she really wants to say is  _'I'll do anything you want of me'_  and it's kind of scaring the living shit out of her.

 

* * *

 

"She's still not talking to me," Emma tells Ruby, in the dairy aisle at the grocery store.

It's Friday, just before Henry's third weekend at the mansion. They're settling in some sort of groove, this week Henry even spent Tuesday night with his mother,  _"No offense, Emma, but she's better at helping with my homework than you are,"_ he said. It hurts, but it's true.

"Regular or greek?" Ruby looks at Emma in inquisition, "I know she likes blueberries."

"Not a word, unless you count the grocery list she left for me this time. I guess that's progress." Emma sighs, "Greek."

"Plain greek then, we'll get her some fresh blueberries." Ruby puts a few cups of yogurt in the cart and squeezes Emma's arm, "Trust takes a long time, Emma. At least she's seeing you're consistent about Henry and that's good."

"It is? She told you?" They're talking, Emma knows it. She's caught sight of Ruby more than once at the mansion over the past three weeks.

"Sorta," Ruby grimaces, "I want to help you, Em, but you asked me to be on her side too, and that's what I'm doing."

"Yeah I know, I'm sorry." She sounds dejected, well she is.

They make a stop for milk, butter, some cream too.

"Snow is giving me shit for wanting to let Henry go back to live with her. Neal's adding his two cents too, although shutting him down is a lot easier." Emma kind of blurts it out. Ruby is Snow's friend too.

"So that's what's really bothering you," Ruby grabs something else Emma doesn't pay attention to. "Snow is rather blind when it comes to Regina," she shrugs, "I'm not surprised she's opposed to Henry being with her."

"Seems like everybody is rather blind when it comes to Regina."

"Yeah," Ruby laughs, the disillusioned kind, "It's that black and white stuff fairytales are made of. Snow, she's got a long and complicated history with Regina, but she'll have none of the responsibility, or just enough to think she's done what was right many times over, just enough to feel warm and fuzzy inside."

"You're angry," Emma observes the hard lines of Ruby's usually smiling face.

"I am," Ruby tells her, handing her the list. "What do we have left?"

"The international aisle, apparently," Emma whistles at the list, she had no idea the Storybrooke grocery store carried all of that.

"Your mother has the most caring heart, Emma, she has the best of intentions and if she's not confronted by things that profoundly shake her value system, she will be so good, it puts all of us to shame. But you and I both know that's not how the world goes, there's darkness in every one of us, maybe more in some than others, and Snow has been reminded of that with what she did to Regina with Cora.

"It wasn't the first time, and now that I really think on it, I believe she's been lying to herself since she was a young girl."

Ruby looks old and somber, pained too. Has she been wishing she could have protected her friend from doing something so awful, or has she been blaming herself for not confronting her best friend, her sister, about her deepest sins sooner?

Emma misses Mary Margaret. Ruby must be missing Snow, because god knows who is with them now.

"It's like David and Snow just want to leave everything behind," Emma says, "Especially Regina, and start anew, like I never gave up Henry, like she didn't raise him for twelve years, like Snow didn't kill Cora. The town will never accept her if they don't, but they're just so adamant." She runs a hand in her hair before putting both in her back pockets. "I have no clue how to get her to trust me, I have no clue how to get them to understand things need to change, they've already changed, and it's so hard, Rubes, especially on Henry."

"You can't force people or things to bend your way, Emma, that's not how it works. Regina is a very good example of that." Ruby puts a hand on her arm.

"I know," Emma kicks her boot against Ruby's.

"Then stop trying to bend yourself backward too, and just be yourself. They'll come around or they won't, but at least you'll know it's genuine."

Emma smiles a little, "Let's get her some ice cream."

"Oh yeah," Ruby chuckles, "Something decadent."

 

* * *

 

"I'm gonna go around back," Ruby tells her after she's sort of sniffed at the air.

"Uhm, sure," Emma already has the key in the lock, "I've got the groceries I guess."

"Cool." And with that Ruby disappears round the house.

Emma lets herself in, as she does, goes to the kitchen, as she does, and starts putting things away, as she does.

It smells good, like sauce and meat and… lasagna. In the oven. She would have gotten take-out for their dinner or cooked, she's cooked a couple times now, but there's lasagna in the oven.

"Oh," Emma says it outloud for nobody in particular because she can see the absolutely-undisturbed-by-the-cold Ruby sitting on the back patio stairs next to a bundled-up Regina.

And they're talking.

She busies herself putting the groceries where they belong. One place for each thing, one thing for each place. She's not going to be jealous. There's lasagna in the oven. Plus she doesn't have to throw anything out the fridge this week, that means Regina is eating more. So she has to be happy about that.

Regina's lost weight. No matter how much she tries to feed her carbs and good cheesy stuff and buys her granola and greek yogurt and has Ruby or Henry drop her scones and sweets. Henry said they had brownies when he went to read comics with her last. They do that together too, read comics.

Now she's working herself up to a full on tantrum and she needs to stop. She slams the refrigerator's door and goes to the study, she'll start a fire or something. There's nothing to start but at least she gets to poke around real good and hard and throw a log in there. She would go get wood but they're both outside and she wouldn't want to intrude. Emma Swan doesn't go where she's not wanted.

Except to Regina's. But that's different.

The oven chimes its fatal ding. Emma returns to the kitchen.

She turns the oven off, uses mitts to get the large dish out and steps sideways to rest it on the marble counter. She closes the oven door and…

"Fuck! Regina," Emma jumps, "You startled me."

She takes a calming breath, looking around for Ruby. "Is Ruby gone?"

Regina ignores her as usual and walks to the parlor where Emma hears her open the coat closet. Still not a word. She rolls her eyes in frustration.

Regina returns, washes her hands at the sink, and Emma decides to take a chance, "Thanks for cooking the lasagna," she's not exactly confident but she allows herself a small smile, "I would have ordered, but this is really a lot better. I'm glad you felt like doing that."

And then she watches with horror the neutral mask she's gotten used to see on Regina's features turn into the much older one of their first year together, a vile smug tugging at the beautiful lips, "Don't flatter yourself, Miss Swan, I cooked for Henry, lasagna is always better from the day before."

She nods, because that's all she can do. She nods like an idiot, dumbstruck, taking a few short breaths to digest the blow. "Okay," Ruby's words echo in her mind, "I think I'm gonna go now."

She practically runs from the kitchen and is halfway to the front door when the doorbell rings. She turns around to see what Regina will do, or if she's even heard, when she realizes that she's actually right behind her, her arm halfway extended to catch Emma's.

Regina passes her, throwing her a quizzical look, then opens the door to reveal the visitor.

Snow White is standing at the mansion's door, alone, visibly shaken, and on the verge of tears.

This time Emma is shell-shocked, and so, it seems, is Regina.

"Regina," Snow says, trembling voice and frame, "I've come to talk to you, in peace."

Regina is dead silent, immobile but for her breath hitching at irregular intervals.

"I had to protect my family, and the people, Regina, she would have hurt us all, and you too." Snow has fat tears falling from her big green eyes.

They look muddy from here and Emma has heard all of this before.

"It's been so… I know, I know that I've hurt you in the most terrible way, I know you are grieving, but in the name of the care we once shared, I'm asking you," Snow actually falls on one knee, "I'm begging you to forgive me."

It's very Star Wars Episode I- she wonders if Snow is secretly hoping she'll drop to her knees with her. But Emma only burns to cross over the distance separating them and gets Snow back up on her feet, on her way, away.

"Forgiveness?" Regina is seething, Emma can feel magic roaring and flaring between them. "You came here to ask me to forgive you?"

"I came here to ask you to be the bigger person, Regina, bigger than me. Lets us have peace. I know," Snow swallows a sob, "I know that what I've done is wrong, I'm going to have to live with myself for what I've done to you. But for all that is in our lives today, I'm begging you for a second chance."

Regina is rigid with rage, that much is obvious, Emma walks to her slowly. All that is in their lives, she means Henry. Fuck that's low.

"Live with yourself…" Regina isn't making any coherent sentences but suddenly her hands speak for her.

"Regina, no!" Swiftly Emma has an arm wrapped around her. She uses her hand to take hold of Regina's wrist and hands gripping at Snow's throat, her face turning red, mouth wide open, as wide as her muddy eyes.

"Let her go, Regina, it's not you, please!" Emma pulls, hard, she lifts Regina off the ground. Then Snow is gasping on the floor, holding on to her neck and chest.

She pulls Regina back a few steps, and they collapse together. Emma keeps her tightly against her chest, her arms crossed before her. "You let her go, you did good, just breathe."

"Emma," Snow calls, crying, begging really.

Emma looks at her, on the floor of the parlor at the threshold of the door. She's on her knees, rocking herself back and forth.

"Emma…"

Regina is hyperventilating in her arms, she's turned her back on Snow, her face in Emma's neck.

"Leave." She sounds so cold, she feels so cold. Anger.

"You leave here," Emma tells her firmly, "Don't you come back."

"It hurts so badly, Emma." Snow cries, traits undone, tears and snot and drool.

That's her mother on the floor. That's her mother.

"You don't understand anything," Emma whispers, it does hurt, it hurts so very much it's almost sweet. "Go home, Snow."

She cradles Regina's head in her hand. David does it to her, always. Where is he? Their Prince Charming. Why does this keep happening? Emma is so disappointed, so disgusted, it surges through her. Thunder.

"GET OUT!" She screams with all her might.

It startles Regina in her arms, it jolts Snow on the floor.

She watches her mother gather herself and leave, with one last look of regret and shame, Snow closes the door on them.

"Regina," Emma says, she's worried and hurt and stunned at what she's just done. She needs Regina to breathe. "Breathe, just breathe."

She lifts her up in her arms with a grunt, walks them to the study where she knows the fire is going, Regina is shaking like a leaf. Or maybe it's her. She settles down on the couch, Regina in her lap and covers them both with the throw from the back of the couch.

"I'm sorry," Emma ushers a litany, "Breathe, let it go, you did good."

She focuses and focuses, reaching for the low thrum of their magic together, willing to make it sing of softness, of comfort and kindness. She closes her eyes, rubbing her cheek against Regina's temple, pressing kisses to Regina's skin, touching her, never stopping. She can't stop.

"I would have killed her," Regina's voice is hoarse, sand in her throat.

"Yeah," Emma says, "I don't think so."

Regina lifts her head to look at her. Her eyes are sad but soft, deep and dark, warm in the firelight.

Emma's shy all of a sudden.

"I didn't cook the lasagna only for Henry." Regina tucks her head back under Emma's chin.

"Oh." Emma keeps her tightly into her, she only allows herself a long sigh before she goes back to focusing on their magic for Regina.

She forgets about anything else, until Regina speaks again, "You don't have to try so hard. I… I can feel it."

"What is it?" Emma can't help but ask because it's there, this magical thing, and it's bringing them together in ways Emma never wants to let go of.

"I'm not sure," Regina's lips brush at her throat every time she speaks, "Magic in its mysterious ways."

"Is magic alive?"

"Magic is life," Regina relaxes into her, as if having purpose is distracting her from what has just happened. "But if you're asking me if it has a will of its own, then no."

"You don't know what's happening to us." Emma smiles, she's teasing.

Regina scoffs in answer and oh how Emma loves it. "I never said that, Miss Swan."

"Huh huh, right." The bait is so obvious it's ridiculous, but this feels so good, so right, she's grinning like an idiot.

"It's a residue, from that moment we blended our magic together and healed you," Regina pauses, "And me."

"Oh," Emma comments, "So you've seen this before?"

"No," Regina whispers, "Not like this, and certainly not with someone like me."

Regina's self-denigration apart, Emma understands what she means.

"What we did together, it wasn't dark magic."

Regina sighs, "Stay here."

Emma does what she's told, missing Regina as soon as she moves from the warmth of their bodies together, their fort of comfort and blanket and magic. She hears ceramic hitting marble, cabinets open and close, and when Regina returns, she's carrying-waitress style, a couple of plates of lasagna and silverware, along with two glasses and a bottle of wine.

"That's gonna be wasted on me," Emma tells her, "I don't know shit about wine."

"Trust me, Miss Swan," Emma takes both plates from her so she can sit and get situated. "Anyone with taste buds can tell the difference between good wine and bad wine, as long as you're able to taste something other than alcohol."

"Say alcohol doesn't overpower my taste buds, how would I know it's good wine?" Emma smiles, because Regina is sitting so close to her they're touching, even if she's perched on the edge of the leather, uncorking the bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon before serving them both a glass and settling back deeper on the couch legs crossed.

Legs crossed, like she's laid-back and easygoing, like she's not formal and uptight. Like she's cool.

Emma puts Regina's plate on her thighs, takes a glass from her and situates herself in the same fashion so they can have their dinner. She is not going to screw this up. She's absolutely not.

"If it tastes like shit, then it's bad wine," Regina says.

Emma laughs. She looks at Regina and she laughs. It's a hearty laugh too, but really, Regina is looking at her so matter of factly, and she's so beautiful, so genuine, Emma wants to devour her and the lasagna and all the wine. She knows she should be humbled that Regina has decided to call a truce between them, to let her be here, and she is, you know? But how not to want more of Regina when she's just Regina?

"What?" Regina asks, but there's a glimmer dancing in her eyes, playing at the corner of her mouth, pulling at the tip of her eyebrow.

Emma smiles, says nothing, she doesn't want to jinx it. She takes a few mouthfuls of lasagna instead and she moans, because damn it's good food, and yeah, good wine. They marry perfectly, made for one another.

Regina eats as well, in fact she cleans her plate and that makes Emma happy. No more losing weight.

"So is magic like wine?" Emma asks, "Does it taste like shit when it's bad?"

"I wish it were that simple," Regina leans in to put her plate on the coffee table, "Magic isn't only dark or light, and most often it tastes of a complex blend of our emotions and intentions, maybe of our actions too." She tucks her knees to her chest hanging her arms over them with her glass of wine.

Emma readjusts against the arm of the couch, sideways, so she can look at Regina at length. She's calm and thoughtful, her dark hair falling to her face slightly, undisciplined, different from the Regina she knows, or maybe very much like who she really is.

"How was it when you were, you know? The Evil Queen." Emma might be pushing it, but maybe this is safer than speaking plainly about Snow, or Cora, or even Henry and what is happening outside of now.

"It tasted like power, like I could finally live and make my own choices." Regina's gaze pierces at her, vibrant with something Emma knows very well, that desperate frustration to soar and roar and feel liberated of a burden befallen you just because others were bigger, stronger, more privileged, meaner, or just plain selfish. "It felt like freedom."

"Yeah," Emma nods. She knows that feeling. She knows it comes at an ugly price too, and it's not the real thing. They both know.

"At least I told myself that's what it was." Regina takes a sip of wine, extending her left arm in front of her, stretching her hand, flexing her fingers.

"The residue will probably fade away." Regina exhales.

"But it hasn't," Emma retorts, "We're almost-" She pauses, "We're communicating through it."

Confidence of other sorts.

Trust, shy, timid really, but trust. She died a little, and she's been stubborn, so maybe she's earned some. Emma isn't self-confident, but she wants to be brave. Even when she knows what Regina is going to say.

"We can turn it off." Still staring at her own hand.

Emma gently reaches for Regina's wrist, then finds her fingers, caressing in between them until they intertwine. She waits until Regina holds her too, waits until she's fairly certain Regina wants this too. She puts her wine glass on the coffee table, slowly. She also eases hers from Regina's other hand. She then puts her arm around Regina's shoulders, never letting go of her hand, wrapping Regina's arm around herself. She pulls her in, tangles their legs the moment she feels Regina's head resting comfortably on her shoulder.

Regina doesn't fight her, she even scoops herself snuggly into her and Emma breathes a sigh of relief.

"Please, don't? Now is for healing." Emma has never been very eloquent or good at explaining how she feels. Nobody cared before, but even now that she has family, and friends, she still has a long way to go. Clumsy.

"This is good, to you, and to me too, and I'm not ready to let it go."

" _To let you go,"_  and she's not ready to say it aloud, though she's getting good at avoiding thinking about why that is. Live and let live.

"Very well," Regina softens.

Emma combs her left fingers through Regina's hair in a rhythm, keeping it out of her face. They're comfortable and time stretches. Emma tries to identify what's in Regina's scent, what's perfume, what's care products, what's her. Her mind drifts off, and she closes her eyes. She has a hard time remembering, nothing good to remember, to hold onto that would outweigh all the fuckedupness to forget. Not that she's really let go of the past, it haunts her, inhabits her, in the shadow of all things her. It's maddening. Prickly under the surface, catching up to her no matter what.

"I need to tell you something," Emma ventures.

Regina tenses slightly against her, but Emma is quick to reassure, "It's nothing bad, unless you count that it took me a while to tell you. I wanted to from the start though."

"Spit it out, Miss Swan." Regina bumps her jaw with her forehead, apparently in encouragement, echoed in the feed of their magical residue.

"'kay," she inhales before letting out as she exhales, "I was there, at the well, I heard you and Henry."

Regina's "Hmm," has Emma in panic mode instantly.

"Red mentioned as much."

"What? When?!" Emma is definitely going to have a conversation with Ruby.

"It's no matter to you, Miss Swan, obviously, I didn't find it necessary to discuss it." Regina's tone is one which doesn't suffer retort, but Emma isn't known for obedience.

"With me, you mean, because discussing it with Ruby was fine."

It's out of her mouth in one flare of petulant jealousy. And there, she had to fuck it all up.

Regina pulls their hands apart, turns around in her arms and faces her on the couch.

"You are such a fucking child."

"Haven't known you to swear so much, Madam Mayor," Emma crosses her arms on her chest, "Ruby is rubbing off on you."

"Your jealousy is unbecoming," Regina's look is impenetrable.

"You let me marinate for like a month, but you knew all along, that's not cool." And it's not.

"I did." But Emma didn't expect Regina to admit to anything. "Although this wasn't at all the main reason for my silence."

"No?" Emma is too eager to understand to be cross.

Regina sighs, sitting back on her knees, still facing her. They're not touching anymore and Emma can't help the nagging dread that is pooling in her chest. She's ruining their good thing.

"You don't know enough, you don't understand enough to… Do you even know why you're here? You are the child of my enemy, the birth mother of my son," Regina looks away then, resting her chin in a hand supported by an elbow on the back of the couch. "I killed you, yet you managed to have me give you the purest magic inside of me.

"I can taste you in my mouth every time I close my eyes."

She does, Regina closes her eyes.

Emma's ears ring, her head pounds with the reverberation of her beating heart, her lungs expand in her ribcage at the breath she's holding almost wanting the bones to crack. She's defenseless, again. More.

Emma watches Regina slowly bring herself about to look at her in the eye again, shining with an emotion both terribly sad and incredibly soft.

"I just didn't want to talk, Emma."

"You've been angry with me."

"I have."

"I get that, I would have punched me in the face." What she's really trying to say is, "I understand more than you think, I just… Try me?"

"That's what I'm doing." Regina smiles, indulgent.

It's unexpected. Five minutes ago she would have wondered what is making it possible for Regina to smile, through grief, at anyone but Henry, especially her, but it's hit her that maybe this month of mourning wasn't so much about Cora.

"What made you change your mind?" Because it wasn't Snow, there was lasagna in the oven before Snow.

"I heard you, with Gold."

"Oh." Emma looks at her hands in her lap. The doors of the Mausoleum were open, she should have known.

"And Red is rubbing off on me." There are a couple of pointed toes pushing at her thigh. "And Henry wants us to be friends. He thinks you can save me."

"You're the strongest person I know. You don't need to be saved," Emma places her hand on Regina's bare ankle, the contact of their skin eliciting tingles all over them. Because if she feels it, then Regina feels it. "I just want to be with you, not against you anymore, I want to do good by you is all."

"I'm not a reasonable person, Miss Swan," Regina exhales as Emma massages her ankle, digging her fingers under the bone, rolling them around the cap, "There are going to be times when I will want to kill your mother, a lot."

"Yeah, figures," Emma doesn't stop, lets her fingers trail up a smooth calf under denim, kneading, digging. She doesn't want to think about her mother. She wants to have hope that they're going to figure this out. She wants to feel better, she wants Regina to feel good too, like she is now.

"Emma…" Regina stills her hand with hers. One look at her face has Emma realize it's not easy for her to do so.

Within the second it takes her to slip her hands off from underneath Regina's jeans, Emma feels the blazing sensation of a mortifying blush burning from her chest to the very tip of her hair. She stands, walks to the fireplace and busies herself feeding the fire.

She clears her throat, feeling Regina's gaze on her back. "I had no idea you and Henry spoke Spanish together."

"It's not just with me," Regina tells her front now, nodding at her when she hesitantly walks back to where she was seated before. "That's why there's a language program at his school, for all the kids to learn and be in touch with different cultures and identities."

Emma smiles, of course Regina would make sure there's a whole international program at school, and an international aisle at the grocery store, and TV and internet and well the library didn't really thrive, but Emma is ready to bet there are books there that would help too.

"You're Latina," Emma asks, curiosity piqued, "But what did you tell him when he asked from where?"

"I talked to him about my land, where my father was born, in words that didn't make it so important that he knew what country it was exactly. I told him of my father secretly raising me in his traditions, made him eat dishes and specialties in this world that looked like and tasted like the ones I grew up with. Sometimes that has been Puerto Rico, sometimes Mexico, and others, from everywhere. I made it as diverse as possible, food, folklore, traditions and sometimes I had to tell him I didn't know the answers to his questions."

"And you taught him Spanish," Emma repeats, fascinated.

"Yes, I did," Regina smiles again, her Henry smile, "He's very bright, and children are sponges for languages, he took to it very quickly."

"What was it like, the land where you were born? All I've seen is some of the Enchanted Forest, and White Kingdom, I didn't realize you were born somewhere else."

Regina pours them more wine, handing her glass back to Emma.

"I was born in El Reino Sureño," the words roll on Regina's tongue, making Emma want to drink them from her mouth. She has a swig of wine instead. "In the province of Verano, where my Grand Father Xavier ruled the kingdom. The Capital City of the kingdom is also what people in the Land of Fairytale refer to as a summer palace. Verano is hot, and somewhat tropical, full of ripe fruits, some jungle, white sand beaches and turquoise blue lagoons. It's not where I grew up though, not after we were banished from court.

"My father was the fifth in line of an ancient kingdom which wasn't doing well under the rule of my greedy Grandfather. When he died, of rather suspicious circumstances, instead of ascending to the throne as was intended with many a plot and scheme, my father was exiled by his older brother Joaquim.

"We lived in a very small estate at the very North of our kingdom, in the province of Basurto, in the Enchanted Forest. It was my father's favorite piece of land in the whole world, as it was his mother's.

"Basurto means in the middle of the forest in Spanish, it's warmer than the part of the Enchanted Forest in White Kingdom for example, denser and richer too, people there love to grow things."

Regina drinks of her wine, "My mother hated it."

"You really are a princess," Emma inclines her head.

"As much as you are," Regina retorts, cold suddenly, "I would have never been a queen."

"Fifth in line," Emma gets it. Cora.

"When we're born," Regina has a tear threatening to spill from her left eye, the vein of her forehead showing the strain of her effort to keep whole. "It is tradition that a tree is planted to celebrate life."

"Your apple tree…" Emma is awestruck and completely ashamed.

"My apple tree." Regina's hands clench in her lap.

She took a chainsaw to Regina's birth tree. She might have as well taken a chainsaw to her heart. Subtle.

Emma leans in and gently cups Regina's cheek, coaxing her to look at her. She wipes the offending tear with a delicate thumb, suddenly not caring for appearances, for boundaries, and kisses the bulging vein until Regina's forehead soothes.

"I never meant to hurt you so deeply," Emma whispers against the soft skin, her other hand cupping Regina's other cheek, "I was so clueless and stupid. I still am. I don't ever want to hurt you anymore."

"Don't," Regina whispers as well, as if the sound of their voices might break the frail balance of their exchange.

"But I want you to have hope," she remembers the Mausoleum again, how vulnerable Regina had been, just as she is now. "I want you to have all of it and more, better."

"Don't make promises you can't keep." Regina eyes shut against her skin, so close, so scared.

Either bite or cower, unable to stand in the middle. They're so different, so similar. She's tired, they're tired. It's enough for now.

"Let me take you upstairs," Emma pleads really, begs almost.

It's Regina's turn to kiss her forehead, warm lips full of surprises. "If you come upstairs with me, neither of us will let you go."

"I can stay, if you'd like." Emma would like.

"You need to get back to Henry, he doesn't sleep well at the loft when you're not with him." Regina pats her shoulder, breaking away.

"I'll drop him off before breakfast, tomorrow is Saturday." Emma busies herself with their dishes, glasses and empty wine bottle. Regina follows her to the kitchen, then the parlor.

They're standing in front of each other in the dim light by the front door. Emma doesn't bundle up in woolen coats, she's got her leather jacket rough and smooth, her beanie in her pocket.

"I'll keep coming back," she says it stubbornly because she sucks at goodbyes and she doesn't want this sort of tacit understanding between them to take away from her being there. Here.

"If you'll have me." That part she says under her breath.

"Would you not if I said no?" Emma swallows the urge to give in to rejection. She's heard this before.

"Depends," she answers back, as she did the very first time she asked to be let in politely.

"You're insufferable," Regina states neither sassy nor harsh, opening the door behind Emma, "Goodnight, Miss Swan."

"Just say the word, if you don't want me here, I'll respect your wishes," Emma turns around to leave, to run, fast and furious before she breaks, "Goodnight."

Regina deserves the best of her. It begins with respect, even if she doesn't want to let go. She's been dumb enough.

"Emma," Regina calls after her, but seems to hesitates on how to formulate what she wants to say. "You… You and... her, you will come to terms with each other."

Warmth lingers in their bond even as Emma stands alone. Regina's bedroom comes to life through the window on the second floor.

Her. Her mother. Snow White. The exhaustion of the evening hits her hard. Another confrontation to come, worlds clashing, where she only has weapons and no shield.

Battle in a war, nobody ever, ever wins.

She misses Henry terribly, imagining him asleep in her bed, in some way waiting for her to be his knight in shining armor and guard his dreams. She can do that, she desperately wants to do that and she's always going to crave doing that.

Regina is standing by her window, shadows dancing, watching her.

Fortitude.


	5. Benevolent Enforcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exhausted but holding strong to her desire to be a positive force in Regina’s life, Emma also realizes she must face her parents if she is to find her place with them, and support Regina to have hers as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update comes a lot faster than the others, but don’t be expecting me to do that every weekend, or you’ll be disappointed.
> 
> Many thanks to Swatkat and Giors1 who edited this chapter for me.
> 
> Enjoy,
> 
> C.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr. and twitter at paradoxalpoised.

_**Previously |** _

" _Emma," Regina calls after her, but seems to hesitates on how to formulate what she wants to say. "You… You and... her, you will come to terms with each other."_

_Warmth lingers in their bond even as Emma stands alone. Regina's bedroom comes to life through the window on the second floor._

_Her. Her mother. Snow White. The exhaustion of the evening hits her hard. Another confrontation to come, worlds clashing, where she only has weapons and no shield._

_Battle in a war, nobody ever, ever wins._

_She misses Henry terribly, imagining him asleep in her bed, in some way waiting for her to be his knight in shining armor and guard his dreams. She can do that, she desperately wants to do that and she's always going to crave doing that._

_Regina is standing by her window, shadows dancing, watching her._

_Fortitude._

 

* * *

 

When she reaches the loft, Emma is expecting a welcome party of two, ready to fight it out once more. Forever more.

She gets David.

"Where's Snow?" She wonders if she's expected to feel ashamed for how she handled Snow. She imagines children speaking to their parents this way get in trouble, in one fashion or the other, no matter how old they are.

He's sitting at the table, chair facing the door. Waiting for her. He has a glass of whiskey in his hand.

"In bed," he raises his glass, "You want one?"

She sighs, she might as well. She's not ready for this, she's never ready for this. "Sure."

She better let him talk, get it off his chest. She'd rather be done fighting for the night. We don't always get what we want.

"Your mother told me she went to Regina, told me what happened." He seems wary, weary and defeated all at once.

"You didn't know what she was going to do?" She's surprised.

He smiles, it's like a ghost of his charming smile, but it's there, "You don't know us very well like this, the real us, but your mother, she mostly does what she thinks she should do and sometimes, she doesn't let me in on it, especially when she knows I would try to stop her."

"I wish you would have stopped her." She really does. Regina has been through enough, and Snow is walking a perilous edge.

"Regina is the dangerous one, Emma." David takes a large gulp of whiskey and serves them both this time.

"She's dangerous all right," Emma concedes, "But you have to know this isn't all on her. She's been made that way, David, and Snow is largely responsible. You too." It's her turn to let the whiskey burn the back of her throat.

"I guess we are," he says.

"She wouldn't have killed her," Emma has to say it, because it's true, "She could never kill her."

"But she killed many others," David massages his forehead, "Many were sacrificed to her rage, to her revenge."

"I was too." This feud isn't a one way street, "By you."

"I…" There are tears in eyes, dark from the orange light of the street post coming in their family room. "We shouldn't have Emma, never. It was you or war or worse, heroes and villains, but I know now we shouldn't have."

Emma steps away from the chair she was only sitting on the edge of, and kneels by her father's chair. She's not good at this kind of stuff, but she needs him to get it. She needs him to be on her side.

"It was never about heroes and villains, David, she's not a villain. She was suffering so much she crossed over to the dark side. She lost herself to the pain. It's very fucked up, for someone who must have had to go through hell to get this bad.

"I know what that feels like, you know? Being faced with the choices, everyday, that take you deeper into the darkness, the loneliness.

"I wish I knew more of her, but I can sense it, she never had a chance, not until Henry. And even through all that, the years of knowing who she was, who she'd become and what she'd done, she raised a baby, she loved him with all of her heart and she found her way back."

David is crying, awkward and clumsy. Emma looks like him, she can tell. It's weird and nice all at once, to belong in ways that can't be denied, but it means nothing if they don't find a way to love each other. To be friends. To be a family.

Not just family, but a family. That thing she's never had. That thing she's always dreamed of. Their circumstances are complicated, she should wish never to have found them. They hurt.

Emma takes a big hand in both hers. It's firm and a little calloused, like hers. She brings it to her chest and tucks it under her chin.

"She's not the Evil Queen anymore," Emma says as he wipes his eyes with his free hand, brushing it on his jeans before he cups her left cheek. "She's my son's mother. She's Regina."

She waits for him. To be the man she hopes he truly is.

"Please, Dad?"

He peers into her eyes for a moment that feels long. Maybe he's seeing something she doesn't know is there. Maybe calling him dad was all he needed.

He leans in, kisses her forehead. "Okay," he says.

 

* * *

 

It's the first weekend Emma decides not to intrude on Regina and Henry being together. She drops him off, bright and early on Saturday morning, with his own key back on his keychain, where it belongs. She doesn't even walk the path to the mansion's front porch with him. He has his homework and his school uniform fresh from the cleaners.

She won't pick him up until Monday after school. He's fine with his mother, but he calls anyway to let her know they're okay, and what they're eating and what they're doing and that it's good to be home.

It makes her smile while she has herself buried in paperwork at the station. Even when he's happy, he thinks about her.

They're having a blast. In their Regina and Henry fort. It'd be so nice to be a part of that. To be wanted there.

And that's the key isn't it? To be wanted.

Maybe she doesn't have to be a bulldozer all the time.

Maybe Regina will miss her as much as she does.

Right, paperwork.

 

* * *

 

"You've been avoiding me," Ruby says, depositing a brown paper bag on her desk. "Peace offering," she nods at the bag, and Emma notices she has a second bag in her other hand. "I was hoping you'd have lunch with me."

"You're not on shift?" Emma's stomach grumbles. Avoiding Granny's—and Snow—meant avoiding breakfast.

"I got kicked out on break."

"During rush hour?" Emma is doubtful. Sounds like Granny's meddling.

Ruby shrugs.

Emma doesn't do grudges so well, she doesn't know how. Never had friends long enough, never had friends, period. Emma usually cuts her losses.

But not with Ruby.

She cleans her work station for them both to set their food. Ruby drags a chair to sit opposite her at the old desk. They eat in relative silence.

"You're going to be mad at me a long time?" Ruby asks her, beautiful hazel eyes clouded with emotions Emma wants to take time to read.

So she does, she looks into Ruby's eyes, quietly, and Ruby lets her. She doesn't look down too often, she takes it, finishing her food, pulling on the straw of her drink.

There's regret there, and care, and understanding, but also defiance and strength.

"You told Regina." Emma's really hurt. She hates that it slips through her voice. "And then you didn't even tell me about it."

"I know," Ruby sighs, "I apologize for hurting your feelings."

"But nothing else."

"No," Ruby is the one looking at her this time, "I was in an uncomfortable position where I had to make a choice. I didn't like it, but I trusted that you would understand. I chose her."

Maybe love in friendship is like love in family, it has to be unconditional or it doesn't mean anything.

"You're not gonna tell me anything about it are you?"

"Nope," Ruby says, it's final. "I understand if you need to be angry with me."

"Is that what friends do?" Emma asks, "Give forgiveness even if they don't know what for?"

"You know what for," Ruby smiles then, a genuine smile, honest, beautiful, strong like her.

Regina.

 

* * *

 

The loft is quiet, which doesn't happen half as often as Emma would wish for. Henry is spending the night at Regina's after school, David is still on shift at the station, or rather he's forwarded dispatch to his cell so Snow could spend time with him.

She's alone with a bag of chips, diet Dr Pepper, and her homemade grilled chicken, avocado, cilantro and lemon sandwich. She's catching up on Game of Thrones, because Henry is watching it with Regina- it's always better than him being sneaky about it, and she wants to be able to follow the conversation when he gets all into it. Plus he's terrible with spoilers.

No bra, no tight jeans, just some comfy baggy sweat pants and an oversized Red Sox baseball shirt. Letting loose on the sofa, laptop on the coffee table and her plate in her lap. She needs a breather.

The food is good, and she's full, sliding gently on the sofa, pillows behind her back and head.

This place is nice. Her apartment in Boston was safe, and well designed, but it was impersonal. The loft is Mary Margaret's place, it's a little scrappy looking and sounds carry much too much. Appliances aren't top of the line, but they do just fine, and she's come to like it here.

She even calls it home sometimes. She's going to have to go soon.

This is Mary Margaret's place. But it's Snow White who lives here. Not her friend, her mother. And it would be all right, it would be nice even, if Snow didn't try so hard to parent her. Like she knows better, like she has to restrain herself to let Emma be her own.

She closes her eyes, because she's taking a break from it all and she shouldn't be thinking of Snow White, her mother.

Not when instead she can taste Regina in her mouth.

So Emma watches, in the burning red of the back of her lids, she watches Regina moving, regal, intense, walking over to her on that decadent leather couch of hers. She feels the weight of her straddling her abdomen, hands digging into her belly. Her hair softly caressing her face as her lips brush her throat, like they always do when they're this close and she speaks.

' _Emma...'_  Regina whispers, Emma grabs herself and shut her thighs on her hand as tightly as she can.  _'Emma…'_  Regina's breath calls to her, Emma's fingers find their way into her underwear.  _'Emma...'_  Regina pleads for her life, their life, Emma cries out at the sensation of her wetness coating her fingers.

Her need is painful. Her desire pulses.

The wooden floor is hard and cold, once she's fallen face first. Her breasts are pressed hard underneath her. She can't do this. She can't desire this. She's sweating. Magic rakes through her, flaring, hunting her down for every single ounce of her will. It's their magic, it has to be their magic. She hasn't seen Regina for days now-

"Emma, sweetheart?" That is not Regina's voice.

Emma groans, getting on her hands and knees then up. "Yeah, I'm here."

Snow is back.

She picks up her plate and glass and washes them in the sink, giving her an excuse to clean her hands and recuperate a semblance of steadiness.

"I thought you were spending the afternoon with David." Alone time for her, together time for them, a break for everyone.

But none of them has seen the day Snow White will be able to keep to herself long enough for other people to have room to be.

"I just thought it's time we talked." Her point exactly.

Emma is being harsh and she knows it. She can't stop thinking of what happened that evening. What happened after Snow left. She can't stop thinking about the weeks she spent with her mother in the Land of Fairytales, how Snow was then, fierce, protective, decisive. More her mother than her friend, a warrior princess in her element.

"Shoot," Emma says. She might as well.

"I'm not angry with you, for throwing me out how you did," Snow starts, "It was too soon, she's still grieving." Then she pauses, standing at the kitchen bar, while Emma leans back against the sink. "I understand you had to stay with her, it's… it's good what you're trying to do there."

Emma bites the inside of her bottom lip. It helps her refrain from how much she wants to rip into Snow again. How can someone so good be so misguided? Because there is good in her mother, Mary Margaret is proof of that, and her mom has good intentions, but Snow White is… Hell Snow White is a handful of bullshit.

"It's not that it was too soon," Emma says, leaving herself out of the equation, "It's that it should never have happened at all. You can't just show up at her door demanding she makes you feel better for the sake of her relationship with Henry, or me, or her own safety in this town."

"It's not-" Snow starts, but Emma can't let it stand.

"It's exactly what it was."

It's so hard, dealing with people who aren't at all accustomed to questioning themselves, or their motives. Especially when you love them.

"She's not exactly an angel, Emma. People want justice."

"Justice?" Emma scoffs, "What justice is that exactly? The one where Gold is left alone and Regina suffers again? I don't see many of your people asking for his head."

"They're your people too. You're my daughter."

They're looking at each other with anger and frustration. Snow's jaw is set at a hard angle, estranged from her usually soft and benevolent face. Emma is hardly containing herself.

"You really don't get it, do you?" Emma snaps, "She doesn't owe you anything. And she doesn't need your protection or your peace. She's already the bigger person, Snow. Especially when it comes to you."

"After all the things she's tried to pull on you," Snow is visibly hurt, voice breathy and wavering, "You stand for her, you give her Henry." A tear falls from her left eye, solitary witness of the weakness that lies under the hard surface of her current demeanor. "She had her hands around my throat…"

"What has been going on between Regina and me until now has mostly been on me, and it's nothing to do with you." She hates that she can't say it like it is, but she just can't.

They've just found each other.

"She wouldn't have killed you. Thirty years and she didn't do a thing to you."

That's not who Regina is.

Snow scowls. "She doesn't deserve your effort, or your faith in her, not while we're here, barely together again. I know her! You don't!"

Her face is distorted with a fury Emma never thought she would ever see gracing Mary Margaret's tender features.

"She killed my father, she would have killed me if she could have managed it! She hunted me, massacred villages even, for protecting me. She separated me from my true love. She almost took you from us!

"Twenty eight years without you. I had to give up twenty eight years without you, I couldn't raise my baby girl, but now, now she gets my grandson? She gets you?"

Emma is stunned. Snow is seething, foaming with rage. "No, no, she doesn't, not on my terms.

"This is my town now. My people, my rules. She doesn't get an umpteenth second chance just because we're in this world. She doesn't get a second chance just because you are too kind to see her for what she truly is."

Fallen has the benevolent enforcement of the hero's holy truth, now it's just plain righteousness and ugly entitlement. Bow or break.

"What she truly is?" Emma whispers, trembling violently with the disgust churning in her stomach.

"Obviously," she gestures between the both of them, "This isn't working at all. I could try to explain the whole thing to you until I'm blue in the face, you still wouldn't get it."

Emma takes a couple of strides to the front door, grabbing her hoodie from the staircase rail. She stuffs her keys and phone in her pocket, steps into her tennis shoes and lets herself out.

"Emma," Snow calls after her. "I'm sorry, I don't want us to fight, please come back."

She swallows the stairs with Snow on her heels.

"Emma, sweetheart," Snow makes to grab her arm in the parlor of the building, but she flinches visibly enough that she doesn't touch her. "I shouldn't have gotten angry like this, it's not helping. Just… just don't leave, please."

' _Don't leave Storybrooke'_  is what Snow means, but Emma doesn't mean to, she only wants to get away. She only wants to calm down. She's upset, things are fucked up, and these people are all nuts. Years and years of hatred and violence, aren't they tired? Can't they just let go and focus on leaving their lives, which aren't so bad, which are their own now, more than they ever were, peasants or servants, even the royals.

"You're right, you're not helping." Emma steps out onto the cold street, shivering when the wind touches her skin through her shirt and hoodie. "I just need air, all right?"

She doesn't wait for an answer. She makes it to the Bug, unlocks the door and dives in. She's driving a few seconds later, glancing in her mirror to see Snow standing, small and haunched onto herself, alone on the sidewalk.

"Fuck!" Emma hits her steering wheel with the heel of her hand at the next light.

She sends a text to David, because she can't erase that last image of Snow from her mind. They're drowning.

' _ **Didn't go well, you might want to find Snow. Will be back later.'**_

He answers with  _ **'I'm sorry, be safe.'**_

The only place she wants to be is on Mifflin Street, in Regina's arms.

 

* * *

 

Emma ends up at the pier instead, sitting in front of Eric's boat for a while. It's a nice fishing boat. One of several in Eric's fleet. Not that the industry is a rich one, but his fishing company does well for itself. They provide for the town's restaurants, the local grocery store, and there's a stand at the farmer's market every Tuesday and Friday mornings. But mostly the takes are packed with ice and sent over to be sold to a bigger conglomerate that regroups several of the main fleets of Main. It probably all ends up in Boston.

Eric Hangman, as in the Little Mermaid's Eric.

So many things in Storybrooke don't add up. Like how the fish can leave Storybrooke although the town is not on any map. How they have internet and cell phones but all the cars are from the eighties. How some things seem to be as Regina wanted them but most others simply are. Who decided what, and how does it work?

The curse has been broken, yet nobody can leave. Well nobody except for Emma, Henry, and Regina. August was fine too, and Neal. There must be others who weren't cursed. There must be a way to make it safe for people to go if they want to.

Is there a limit to where Eric can sail? She should ask him. He hasn't found Ariel so far.

The town exists now, outside of its bubble, in this world, yet no one's come running to ask them where the hell they've been and who the hell they are, coastal town of Maine that wasn't there three months ago.

Everyday Emma thinks it's all going to come crashing down. Nobody's done anything though, to put Storybrooke into gear, like a normal place to be living in. Maybe the curse isn't all that broken.

If only she could pretend to be back, face to face with Regina Mills, Madam Mayor, MILF to that eleven year old kid who had showed up at her doorstep claiming to be her son. It seemed less of a clusterfuck then, if not for the fact that Henry sort of had to live through somewhat of the same day every day with people who rarely did anything out of script. Feeling crazy. Betrayed.

Regina was desperate to hold on to her masquerade, forced to the brink of murder and sanity by Emma herself. Now it's Snow who will not rest until she has what she wants the way she wants it.

Sometimes she really misses Boston.

She was starting to do all right. She was even relaxing just a little. She'd found nice take out places, a gym, the market place with the most awesome fruits for her smoothies. It's not like she had friends, or she socialized much, but she did all right.

Here things are meaningful. She has a son. She has her birth parents. She has friends. She has Regina. Attachments.

She can't just leave it all behind to be all right again. She's not even sure all right would do anymore at all. The thing is though, Storybrooke is festering with blood feud, quarrels, petty minds and big egos. People need to grow up and learn to live together.

Starting with her mother.

"Hey, Sheriff." Eric's voice startles her.

She turns around on her bench to see him wrapped up in a big windbreaker which also seems insulated, carrying two steaming mugs and another big and fluffy coat under his arm.

Emma gives him a smile, "Hey, Eric." She scoots over on the bench, "I'm off duty, you can call me, Emma."

"Emma," he says gently, setting a mug on the bench then handing her the jacket. "It's Jayce's, it'll be too big for you but it's warm nonetheless."

"Thanks," she says, sliding into the kind gesture—which smells a little like fish—with delight and gratitude. She's been sitting here a long while and her hands are starting to feel really numb. "You took pity on me?"

"Well," he chuckles, "I was making gumbo and watching football while catching up on accounting when I first noticed you here, admiring my fine ship, in nothing but a hoodie. I thought you were just gonna run like you do, but then you kind of just stayed. I didn't want you to catch hypothermia."

"So you rescued me with coffee and a jacket." She takes a very long inhale at the dark liquid in her mug. It smells delicious and exotic. "Sweet."

"It has bourbon vanilla in it."

"Even better," Emma says, taking a very careful sip of her coffee, drawing her knees to her chest and keeping warm.

Eric seems content to drink his own coffee, looking at the ocean, listening to the occasional seagull. Quiet and calm, soothing, Emma catches herself thinking. He's tall and broad, beautiful brown skin, incredibly blue eyes, a long mane of ebony dark hair only tamed by intricate braids keeping it from his face. He's handsome.

"How's fishing?" Emma asks.

"Off season," he smiles at her, with a mischievous and very white smile of perfect teeth.

Emma rolls her eyes. Eric isn't the most exuberant man. He runs a tight business, clean docks and disciplined sailors. He's of few words, meddles little in politics but is a solid pillar in the community. He reminds Emma of Mulan a lot, plus the witty sense of humor.

They'd first met at a fire scene, where Emma was on duty. Eric and his brother Jayce are volunteer firefighters when they're not at sea.

"How's Jayce?" Emma doesn't check on them nearly as much as she should.

"He's good, shooting hoops with Thomas at the firehouse, they're on call." He finishes his mug. "He's been meaning to talk to you."

"Yeah?" She knows better than to ask what for, Eric isn't the type to tell her what is not his business to share. "I'll call him later."

"Or you could stay for gumbo and talk to him then."

Emma isn't sure how Eric knows that she has nowhere to go, although the fact that she's in unpractical clothes, sat on a bench and sulking might be a tell. In any case, it doesn't take long for her to accept.

"Okay," she tells him an hour later, sat at the bar of his large kitchen in his even larger living room, one that has a wall to wall set of windows with view on the marina, "Your place is incredible and this," she points to the consequential pot on the boiler, "smells amazing."

"The building's ours, Jayce's got his place right across from mine on this floor. We've got tenants on the second and third floors. There's laundry on the first floor with a room for bikes and such. We also arranged the roof for everyone's access, BBQ, chairs, and I've got this little garden for my herbs and stuff. There's parking around back and a great view for everyone. It's pretty neat."

He sounds very proud of this and Emma agrees, she rarely ever has to show up in this neighborhood.

They've had a couple of beers, and it's not that she owes him an explanation, but he's a kind man and he doesn't seem the type to judge.

"Do you like your life in Storybrooke?" She asks him, "Now that the curse's broken and you remember."

"It's cold here," he seems saddened, as if remembering the feel of the sun on his skin, "I loved Nacre, my island back in the Land of Fairytales," he explains for her benefit, "but what I loved most was sailing," he pauses, "And Ariel."

"I'm sorry you haven't found her yet." It must be horrible, not knowing, Emma thinks.

"I like my life in Storybrooke," he continues, "I like running a business, being a free man and not a prince. I like football and indoor plumbing. I like having a hospital and safeguards for my crew when we're at sea or on dry land, and I know that they are much safer and have a much better quality of life than what they could have hoped for in the old world.I just wish she was here with me. In this world maybe we could truly be together."

They're quiet for a while, watching last Sunday's game. Emma wishes she knew how to help him. How to help herself too.

"What is it you really wanted to ask, Emma?"

"Do you hate Regina for your life here?"

"Ah, Her Majesty, heh?" He sighs, quickly, before answering, "I don't think so. I don't know much of her reasons, but I know they are sad ones. I also know how she was treated at the White court."

"How do you know?" Emma straightens in her seat with anticipation.

"My people have sailed across all the seas, we did commerce with many nations, including White Kingdom. I was at court in her presence several times, especially before King Leopold's death. I'm about Princess Abigail's age. Anyway, she was," he interrupts himself, "It was impossible not to look at her, not to be enthralled by her beauty, but she was so sad, so extinct."

He smoothes a hand over his hair.

"It's never been a mystery to men in my world how women are treated, of course most choose to ignore it and take advantage. She was so young, and he was older than my father, ignoring her completely, suffocating her into submission, probably imposing himself on her as well."

"I wish Snow could hear you." Emma's shoulders slump in defeat.

"Don't get me wrong, Emma, when she became the Evil Queen, she was terrifying. She was violent with a passion and so unreasonable many thought folly took her. I think maybe it did, in a fashion. Although she never was anything if not a very smart ruler. I was sailing her shores when she cast the curse. I don't think she meant for us to be taken in its midst."

"But you don't want retribution or something?" Emma feels like she needs to insist, to know that there are those in town who will not demand harm come to Regina.

"Twenty eight years of this curse, alone here with her memories, that's its own prison isn't it? She punished herself as much as she did us. I want to move forward with my life and make the best of it. I suspect, since she hasn't killed any of us since, that she wants to do the same," he smiles at her. "So no, I don't feel the need to hurt your queen."

Emma blushes so hard, she inhales beer, spits some and definitely chokes on more.

"I don't," she sputters, "She's not-" Emma tries again, "She's my son's mother."

Eric only laughs. A good, generous laugh. He raises his hands in a gesture meant to appease her, "Is she the reason why you were sitting on outside in the cold?"

"I ran away from home," Emma grimaces.

"Aren't you a little old for that?" He's sobered up.

"Snow White and Prince Charming don't seem to think so." She waits for his retort but none come.

"Don't look at me like that," he nods in her direction, "You made me talk more in an hour than I have all week, it's your turn."

"Let's say that Snow isn't as forgiving as you are, and a lot more interested in power play. She won't accept that Regina isn't the Evil Queen anymore, and what she did… I just can't reconcile her with the woman I've come to call my friend.

"Snow isn't Mary Margaret, and she's my mother but she isn't my mom, you know? She didn't raise me, and that's something we're never gonna get back. It was her choice, ultimately, to put me in that wardrobe, and I can't just play the little girl for her to mother around because she can't face her responsibility for it."

"Then don't," Eric shrugs. "Establish ground for the appropriate relationship you want with them."

"I have no idea what that looks like," Emma admits.

"I love my brother," Eric says. "He was very young when our mother died, and that eventually brought us closer, but I'm not his parent and technically, I'm his prince. We understood pretty early that we both needed our space to respect each other and appreciate the men we are."

"I should move out," she muses, "Literally establish my own ground and my own space, so we're not in each other's faces all the time. Maybe we would be more receptive to one another that way. It would be great for Henry, too."

"Storybrooke isn't that big," Eric says, "And your father still works with you, right?"

"Yeah, not that it's doing us any good," Emma confesses.

"Well that's your department, but here," He walks over to a drawer, retrieves a pair of keys and puts them on the bar in front of her, "There's a good sized two bedrooms that's free on the second floor, we just finished refurbishing it, totally lost its eighties vibe. Why don't you take a look and it's yours if you want it?"

"Thanks man, I appreciate it," Emma pockets the keys, "I'll keep you posted."

Jayce chooses that moment to join them, and Emma doesn't have a lot of time to dwell on what Eric has told her, even if her chest does feel a little looser. She gets two servings of gumbo, which puts her mouth on fire and have both men laugh at her with the same toothy grin and kind eyes. Jayce beats around the bush while Eric greets more people coming in to put a dent in his big pot of goodness, but eventually he tells her he'd very much like to apply to be a deputy under her at the Sheriff Department.

She tells him to come in the following Friday and they'll talk about it. Maybe having a new deputy would be a good spot to start turning Storybrooke around for all its inhabitants to move on with their lives.

Darkness has set and soon the evening is running out to give into night. Emma is actually thinking it might be time for her to return to her parents' loft and try, again, to find a way to make peace with her mother. Her phone vibrates in her pocket.

' _ **You may come tuck Henry in.'**_

Emma smiles.

She's looking forward to threading her fingers through Henry's hair, to bury her nose in his neck wafting of still-little boy scent, which isn't going to last much longer.

It's Wednesday night, she hasn't seen Regina since the Friday before. She's been hiding, because she doesn't know how to stay away anymore.

She doesn't know how not to crave.

She's been aching for her. She's been burning for her.

For so long.

Regina.


	6. Vulnerable Defiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma heads over to the mansion to tuck Henry in and face Regina after her decision to distance herself from the intensity of their interactions—a decision she has regretted ever since.
> 
>  
> 
> [Setting | Events in this chapter take place in Storybrooke, around S02E17 ‘Welcome to Storybrooke’.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to giors1 & Devje for editing.
> 
> C.
> 
> You can find me on Twitter & Tumblr. under Paradoxalpoised.

 

* * *

 

 “Miss Swan,” Regina says, left eyebrow high and dubious, after she gives Emma an unreadable once over. “Henry would have waited a few minutes more for you to put actual clothes on.” 

Emma doesn’t have the bravado to mouth back, but she manages not to blush uncontrollably. “Long story.”

Regina moves aside to let her in, and Emma knows she can’t linger. She’s already so weak. Gone.

She kicks off her shoes and climbs the stairs, finding her way down the hall on the second floor to Henry’s bedroom.

“Hey, kid,” she says, walking over to his bed.

“Hey, Emma.” He smiles for her. “You came.”

“Of course I came,” she grins back at him, “I couldn’t miss out on a hug with you.”

He rolls his eyes at her and he’s so Regina’s, she can’t think of anything to chastise him.

“I’m not ten anymore, you know? I don’t need to be tucked in or anything.”

“I thought you missed me,” she pouts, teasing him.

“Yeah,” he says, “you haven’t come around for dinner or anything.” Then he whispers, “Mom misses you.”

“You think?” Emma asks because her heart is skipping beats and she could barely keep herself from crushing Regina’s body against hers when she got in.

“Yeah,” he says matter-of-factly, dismissing any doubt with a gesture of his hand. “She keeps asking about you, trying to sound like she isn’t. And she stayed by me the whole time, every time I called you last weekend.”

“I’ve missed you guys too,” she says, suddenly flooded by the relief of finally being here.

With them.

“Why don’t you come over like you did before?”

He’s got this ability to see right through her, to comprehend things he doesn’t understand. He’s so important.

“I didn’t want to blow it,” she says, rubbing the palms of her hands on her thighs. “Your mom’s been talking to me a little, and I thought maybe I shouldn’t impose all the time now.”

“Emma.” She looks at him and smiles as earnestly as she can because he’s hers too and he’s smart and he asks questions she doesn’t know how to answer. “If my mom didn’t want you around, she would have thrown you out or something else a long time ago.”

“You must be right.” Something else. Everything else.

Emma pulls him into a hug that he doesn’t resist. She squeezes him a little, burying her face in the heavenly soft skin of his neck. He wraps his arms around her, she shuts her eyes tightly enough that she sees dancing colors.

He pets her hair while she inhales his.

“Are you okay, Emma?”

“Yeah.” She lets go, kisses his forehead. “Thanks for the pep talk, kid.”

“I don’t believe you,” he says. He still has his hands on her arms. Baby hands.

He’s the face of skepticism and worry. He shouldn’t ever worry. Not about her, not about Regina, not about anything. He should just be a kid and have fun and friends and a bike and comics and dip his french fries in his milkshake.

No more lies.That was his only request.

No more lies, to give it all back, to keep it all.

“I had a fight with Snow,” Emma says, softly, because she doesn’t want to scare him, but she asked him to be a team with her. “About your mom.”

“Was it bad?” he asks, a crease on his forehead and sadness in his precious, brilliant eyes.

“It was kinda bad, yeah.” Because Emma doesn’t have the first clue on how to make things better. She’s already walked her half of the way.

“They don’t love her like we do,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing that they both love Regina, and Emma falters, hopes he doesn’t see it. She’s not ready for this, and certainly not ready for that. “But maybe they will, like Ruby, they’re friends now.”

“I hope so,” Emma says, but she doesn’t believe that. Snow has loved Regina once, she seems to have forgotten.

“If we help her be really good,” Henry shrugs, “then Grams and Gramps will have to see it and like her too.” He pauses. “I think Gramps likes her a little already.”

“How come?” Emma asks.

“When you were gone, they had to work together, and Mom was good, and Gramps saw that Mom can be really good, you know? With everything, not just with me.”

Regina swallowed a death curse for her, and what a thank you she gave her.

“I’ll work things out with Snow.” Emma helps him lie down and covers him properly. “You need to sleep now.”

She soothes the skin of his forehead, threads her fingers through his hair. It calms her screaming mind, softens her frayed nerves. A balm on her wounds.

He’s so very important.

“I love you, Henry,” she says, to his softened face and closed lids.

“I love you, Emma.”

He rolls to his side, drifting into slumber. At home.

 

* * *

 

 

Emma sits down the stairwell, observing the light coming from the kitchen. It’s the heart of the house.

Where Regina is.

Maybe if she waits a little, she’ll be able to control herself. Maybe if she waits a little, she’ll be able to hold on to the fact that it’s Regina who texted her. That Regina misses her. Because Henry said so.

Maybe if she waits a little, she won’t let her feelings get in the way of what is best for Regina, and for Henry.

Emma dislikes feelings. They’re treacherous and sneaky. She’s had to learn to open up to them with Henry, with Mary Margaret, but there’s this thing about feelings, about love. Emma hates herself for it. She despises herself for it. This complete vulnerability that comes with having craved love so much for as long as she can remember that when she gets some, even just scraps, she’s defenseless. She would do anything for more, she would accept anything for more.

Because she was never worthy. Because she never mattered. Because she begged for more.

Even when she knew. Even when she knew it was bad and wrong and it shouldn’t have happened. To her. To anyone.

Like with the oldest son of a foster family she was placed with when she was ten. And his younger brother, too. Like with that foster dad who cornered her once. Before she ran.

Like with Neal, who wasn’t bad that way, but still bad anyway.

Love has never been on Emma’s side. Happy endings only exist in fairytales. And even then, they don’t come with a lifetime warranty.

And Emma has had her fill of fucking fairytales.

She needs this shit to start getting real.

Because now, now, there’s Henry. There’s Regina. Nothing is going to stand in the way of their happiness.

She decided she was going to be braver.

 

* * *

 

 

Emma enters the kitchen quietly on her barefeet. Wanting to be brave and being brave are two different things, aren’t they?

Regina is energetically kneading at something on the marble slab of her kitchen island.

Maybe it’s her head she should let Regina pound against marble. She certainly looks like she wants to.

Regina ignores her, only to ask a second later, “Come to get your fix, Miss Swan?”

She is, isn’t she? She needs her. She needs her so much her blood boils. It’s not just for healing. Not only. When did she get so attached?

Emma shakes her head. Nothing gets clearer.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’ll go.”

She turns on her heels. It’s the best thing to do. She can’t burden Regina with her confusing, contrasting thoughts and needs. With her feelings.

Emma dislikes feelings.

It’s the sound that surprises her most. The loud smack of the ball of dough hitting her square between the shoulderblades. Then it flops stupidly to the floor by her naked feet.

“Idiot,” Regina snaps.

Emma looks from the dough to Regina, wide eyed and feeling indeed like the biggest idiot.

“I’m so—” but she’s interrupted.

“I swear, Miss Swan, if you say you’re sorry one more time—” Regina inhales a furious intake of air but seems at a loss as to what to threaten her with. Or rather, if to threaten her more, or not.

Emma says nothing instead and picks up the ball of dough from the floor. She walks over to the trash can and drops it in.

“Come here,” Regina orders her.

Cautiously, she approaches Regina. She can’t stay away anyway.

“Five days,” Regina growls. “After more than a month of your relentless, rude, stubborn presence, I finally give you the time of day and you disappear for five whole days!”

“Yeah,” Emma says. “I’m an idiot.”

“You are.” Regina’s breath catches when she steps closer.

Emma looks at Regina’s shaking hands, sticky with dough and flour.

“Is that what we are,” she asks. “Junkies?”

Regina’s closeness is the most delightful torture. Emma wants so much more. What she wants most is for whatever this is she feels, whatever this is between them, to be real.

“No, Emma.” Regina says her name again, it sounds tender. She takes her hand, too. Sticky and everything. “Magic is emotion, it’s fueled by what you feel. You simply have no control over yours.”

Regina tugs on her hand, Emma takes the last step separating them. She places her dirty hands on Regina’s hips, brings them together. She’s shaking violently. Regina’s arms encircle her neck, and Emma can finally feel every inch of their bodies cling to each other.

“I don’t want to put dough in your hair,” Regina whispers, softly kissing the skin just below her ear. Once.

Emma melts.

She holds on as tightly as she can, afraid to move, aware that if she does she won’t be able to stop. And then she’ll destroy everything. Because she’s not capable. She’s not capable of being good and stable and confident. It’s not what she does.

Fighting battles has never been her problem. It’s keeping peace she has no clue about.

“I’ve missed you,” Emma blurts.

Regina doesn’t tense in her arms. She doesn’t pull away. She actually tightens their embrace.

“I didn’t say the word,” Regina says, small, wounded, and Emma knows just how much it is costing her not to retreat behind her walls in her citadel of silence and anger.

“I know,” Emma says. “I wanted to be more respectful.”

“You could have asked,” Regina says. “You could have texted, or called.”

Emma sighs, she pulls away enough to press her forehead to Regina’s. She has to be braver.

“I don’t want to fuck this up,” Emma says. She swallows. “I always fuck everything up.” She takes a deep breath. Ready to be rejected. Ready to do what is asked of her. “I can’t stay away from you anymore.”

“So you stayed away from me?”

“I… yes.” Emma does feel dumb.

Regina smiles. It’s not a Henry-smile, but it’s not a smirk or a smug smile either. It’s such a soft smile, Emma has to pull away a little more so she can see the corner of Regina’s eyes smile, too.

Her own eyes dart everywhere away— and not— from Regina’s face and her beautiful lips smiling just for her.

“Emma.” Regina’s voice is so gentle. That’s definitely her Henry-voice. “Look at me.”

So Emma looks, because how can anyone resist that not-Henry soft smile and the Henry-gentle-voice.

“If this is for healing,” Regina’s eyes are like her heart. They contain the universe, they can move mountains and stop time. “You have to be here.”

They tell stories of love and blood, of hope and fear. Of meaning.

Emma nods. “‘kay.”

“Okay,” Regina says.

Emma loves their proximity, but what she loves most is that maybe they’re going to be okay.

“You lost me my dough.” She swears Regina is reading her mind.

“You threw it at me.” Emma rolls her eyes. Allowed to regain some composure.

“We should make some more,” Regina says, disentangling herself from their embrace and turning to the kitchen island. “Have you eaten?”

“Yeah,” Emma smiles at the thought. “I had gombo at Eric Hangman’s.”

“In these clothes?” Regina measures flour and cuts butter. “Wash your hands.”

Emma grimaces. “I sorta left in a hurry.” She washes her hands. “What are you making?”

Regina lifts a curious eyebrow, but answers anyway. “Pastel de manzanas con dulce de leche,” Regina says, doing that thing again that makes Emma want to swallow her tongue in her mouth.

“Apple something?”

“Cinnamon apple pie with dulce de leche. Start peeling.” Regina hands her the instrument and Emma does as she’s told.

They work in silence for a moment until Emma peels off the pad of her ring finger. She winces and sticks it in her mouth. “Ow.”

“You are a menace.” Regina walks over to what appears to be the laundry room and comes back with a first aid kit. She has Emma sit on a chair before she cleans her finger, making Emma squirm.

Then she sticks an Iron Man bandaid on it.

“I had a fight with Snow. I needed some air so I left and I went to the docks and Eric lent me a windbreaker.”

Regina stuck an Iron Man bandaid on her finger.

“And he fed you gombo.” Regina leaves her side to return to her baking.

“Yeah…” Emma hesitates, unsure if Regina’s reaction is a good or a bad one. “We were talking about the curse, among other things.”

“You mean me.” Regina kneads at the dough in a large ceramic pie pan, pressing it to the edges.

“Well, yeah, a little.” Emma swallows because she really wishes she could explain herself well.

Her fight with Snow was horrible, but her time with Eric was nice. It made her feel better to see that not everyone in Storybrooke hates Regina, and now that Henry is back in her life, now that Ruby is her friend, maybe it’s time for Regina to have more friends. To be integrated. “It was a good talk, actually.”

Regina raises another dubious eyebrow at her, but doesn’t comment as she peels the apples Emma didn’t get back to.

She’s thinking so loudly, Emma can hear her annoyance, frustration and denigration as loudly as if Regina were to speak the words.

Emma sprinkles the semolina at the bottom of the crust and then opens the can of condensed milk Regina’s placed on the counter. She marvels at Regina’s dexterity, and ponders what to say next.

When an idea springs to life. “Regina, would you go out to lunch with me tomorrow?”

Brave it is.

Regina hasn’t been out of the house or out of her car in weeks, carefully avoiding any sort of confrontation with the rest of Storybrooke but for the select few she’s comfortable with. That’s a few select few, because it comes down to Granny, Ruby, Henry and Emma.

They can have lunch—at Granny's even, so they’re safe, because Granny won’t let anyone be an ass to Regina in her presence. Maybe they’ll have a good time, and Regina can gain a little confidence from that.

Maybe Regina will agree to come visit the apartment at the pier with her afterward. Maybe it’s time they talk about Henry living full time with Regina again, but she’d like to know if she’ll be allowed to have him with her, too. Weekends and the likes, maybe more, and for that, the place she chooses needs to be appropriate for Henry.

“If you want to have lunch, Miss Swan, we’ll be perfectly fine here.”

“Come on, Regina,” Emma sighs. “You haven’t been out and about in ages, it’ll be good for you.”

At least it seems they’re having lunch.

Regina cuts the apples in very pretty and even slices that they both start to arrange in circles on the crust.

“Before or after your mother or any other of the peasants surrounding her decide they want my head on a spike?”

There’s bitterness to Regina’s tone, but no aggression. Her eyes are shimmering with a resigned sadness, as if she’s already prepared to defend herself against the violence of an enemy she considers foolish. And they would be. Emma can’t imagine the citizens of Storybrooke would be that stupid, at least not all of them, but the spite they’ll impose on Regina, that is something neither of them can control.

Hiding at the mansion won’t instill any change in the mind of the town, collectively or individually. It certainly won’t put an end to whatever grief kids are sure to be giving Henry at school since it started again, because they hear their parents call his mom the Evil Queen at home.

“I don’t care what my mother thinks, or anyone else in town,” Emma says with a might that surprises her and Regina as well, judging by the slight opening at her lips. And that she’s stopped whisking warm condensed milk with cinnamon. “You belong to the community just as much as anyone else here. Maybe even more because you created this town and you gave everyone a new life. I’m not sure how things work, but I know we need to start moving on with our lives, getting Storybrooke fairytale crap out of the way because we’re in Storybrooke, Maine. In this town, you are Regina Mills, mother to my son and mayor of the fucking place. They need to get it in their thick skulls and move on with their lives.”

“I can guarantee that’s not how your mother and the other royals will see it, Emma,” Regina says, “even if I appreciate the sentiment.”

“I’m not being sentimental.” And she really isn’t. “This town needs to start functioning like any other town, no matter how small and insignificant, because we’re in this world, not in the other one, and you deserve to be safe and happy. Henry deserves a good life with love and dreams and friends, with an education and a future. His best shot, that was the deal. Those were the promises I made him. To give him his best shot and to protect his mom.”

Regina is looking at her, frozen and speechless, but Emma can feel the intense amount of emotions coursing through them. It’s difficult to discern, but what they are sharing now is gentle to her senses, warm and kind yet passionate.

“I don’t know that they will let you.”

It’s the most sincere tone she’s ever heard coming from Regina. Her voice is calm, intelligent, and what Emma likes most is that, for once, she’s talking to her as an equal. “I don’t know that I haven’t alienated them enough over the years that I can come back from who they think me to be. Or that they even want to be here in the first place, now that they remember. That they will want to make life here work.”

Regina pauses, breathes. “I don’t know that I owe them, or your mother, any remorse. I may have certain regrets, but I don’t have much remorse.” Regina straightens, and how beautiful she stands. Determination. “Evil isn’t born, it’s made.”

Emma notices how close from each other they’ve gotten again, dirty hands brushing against one another, her Iron Man bandaid the only barrier between her skin and the palm of Regina’s hand. Iron Man because he’s not a god, a mutant or a sorcerer, just a really, really smart idiot, with a lot of flaws and his heart in the right place.

She takes Regina’s hand, firm, intent, because she knows nothing, but she has always, always known that.

“I know.” Emma searches for her words. “I want to know.”

Courage isn’t born. It’s made.

“I want us to try.” Emma tilts her head, willing her eyes to tell Regina the truth of her heart. “I want you to try with me, will you try with me?”

Regina rolls her eyes, but it has to be to cover the blush coloring her cheeks. It was so much easier to be in each other’s faces all the time, fighting and denying and hurting.

“What if they won’t let us?” Regina asks then, darkness and disappointment.

“Then fuck them,” Emma doesn’t hesitate. “We’ll leave Storybrooke.” There are many things to stop her, but none of them will.

“Emma, your parents—” Emma interrupts Regina by cupping her cheek with her right hand.

“Nothing is going to come between Henry and his best chance at a good life. Nothing.” Emma can feel the salt burning her eyes as she’s reminded of Snow’s earlier words, the hatred deforming Mary Margaret’s face. “I’m not letting anyone decide for you what kind of life you deserve to have.”

Emma swallows. Once. Twice. No tears. “There’s a whole world outside of Storybrooke, where we can be happy, where we can make a new life, where we don’t have to be the Evil Queen or the Savior. If that’s what it takes, then that’s what we’ll do, ‘kay?”

She caresses Regina’s lips with her thumb, slightly damp from the juice of the apples she touched. The scar is soft when she brushes it with her index finger, two curves and a dent in the middle.

Regina’s eyes are infinite. Emma wants to kiss her. Lips and scar. Two curves and a dent.

“Okay,” Regina breathes, leaning into Emma’s touch.

Vulnerable defiance.

 

* * *

 

 

The parlor smells of apples and cinnamon, with an incredible sweetness in the air that can only be dulce de leche. Emma has had tres leches once, so she knows what it’s like, but she would bet Regina’s dulce de leche is much better.

Regina has opened the oven door, washed her hands and insisted on loading Emma’s hoodie in her washer right away.

They’ve drifted in the parlor. Closer to the front door. Closer to the stairwell.

“I should go,” Emma says.

She should go.

There are Snow and David to consider. There are boundaries she’s not sure she can keep on keeping very well.

“No,” Regina says.

 

* * *

 

 

“Your bed is too comfortable to be legal,” Emma says, muffled, before turning her head toward Regina.

Regina observes her for a moment and Emma is content to let her. The silence isn’t uncomfortable. Then Regina tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear and asks, “Have you told your parents where you are?”

“No,” Emma says. She’s been toying with the idea, though. “I’m not a child, they don’t need to know where I am every minute of the day.”

She flips from her stomach to her back and stubbornly looks at the ceiling.

“Come here,” Emma dares, lifting her arm up.

Regina carefully molds herself to Emma’s body, gently laying her head on Emma’s shoulder. Emma wraps her arm around Regina and takes a deep, relieving breath. She’s needed this. They both have.

She feels Regina’s leg curve up on top of hers, her arm around her waist. She turns her head to bury her nose into Regina’s silky, inviting hair. She closes her eyes. She breathes again, deep, slow breaths of ecstasy. She knows the magic is glowing in her eyes. She can feel it thrum happily in both their bodies. Almost imperceptibly, Regina nuzzles at her neck. Presses and releases the pressure of her fingertips on the skin of Emma’s stomach.  

How can there be so much comfort in holding Regina so close? How has she gone so long without ever doing so?

“They will worry,” Regina says, lips grazing the skin of her throat, voice low with— is it shyness? A sad anticipation, maybe, that this thought could drive Emma away from her? From this?

“Let them.” Emma catches her phone on the nightstand, slides it to life and opens a text to David. She places the phone to her chest so Regina can see.

‘I’m good. I’m safe. See you guys tomorrow.’

Emma presses sends, then sets her phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’, and places it back on the nightstand by her side. “There, all done.”

“They probably know where you are,” Regina whispers, then sighs.

Brave. Honest. Here.

Emma intertwines their fingers together on her stomach, turns her face to Regina’s head again and presses her lips to her forehead in a long but soft kiss.

“I’m where I need to be.”


End file.
